Title: The Twelfth Distinction.
Author: Mandy
E-mail: kitty_amazon@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: mid-season four.
Key words: UST, JMPR.
Author's Notes: Sequel to Taking the Moment.
Summary: Miss Parker and Jarod join forces again when Jarod discovers a
particularly nasty Centre secret - one with serious ramifications for Parker.
Their quest for the truth raises questions about their past, their future, and
their continuing unsteady emotional involvement... but who and what is the
Twelfth Distinction?
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
The Twelfth Distinction
Jarod's absence was beginning to get annoying. Miss Parker sat at her
desk, a drink in one hand, and a ream of computer printouts in the other. It
was yet more useless data that really only meant one thing; Jarod was still
gone.
She was stuck with a fading tan, one anxious techie, a bear for a brother
and one mildly depressed shrink, all waiting for the one thing that would
provide relief from the daily monotony. A sign from Jarod. Any sign, any clue
or taunting comment. Even a stone cold trail would be better than nothing at
all.
A month earlier Jarod had called to announce that, after his incarceration
on Laredii Island, he was taking a break, and that they shouldn't expect to hear
from him for a while. Parker had scoffed at the time, as had Lyle and her
father. They all knew Jarod couldn't stay away from the Centre for long, and it
had already been a month and a half since his escape from Lyle's guard on the
Gold Coast.
His continuing silence had been enough to turn their scorn into doubt.
Exactly how long did the Pretender intend to stay away?
"Anything?" Lyle asked, propping his feet up on her desk. They had been
sitting there for an hour and a half in silence.
"Of course not," Miss Parker said impatiently, throwing the ream of papers down,
"When Jarod wants to be gone, he's gone."
"We've always been able to track him down before," Lyle snapped.
"That's because he's always *let* us track him down before. If he ever really
wanted to disappear, all he had to do was break off all contact and dissolve
into anonymity. Which he has done," she said tiredly, gulping down the last of
her drink and setting her glass aside. Her brother shifted restlessly.
"He'll call. He can't stay away," he growled.
Sydney, of course, was getting worried. He was concerned for Jarod's
health, despite Parker's repeated assurances that Laredii had done the Pretender
no serious damage, as well as his mental and emotional state. Miss Parker had
no easy answer for that; a gnawing doubt was growing that Jarod feared recapture
so much now that he was willing to drop off the face of the earth. Laredii had
found him, caught him and kept him for six months without him being able to do a
damn thing - perhaps that was enough to send him running for cover.
"We don't even know if he's back in the United States," she said idly, to which
her brother responded with a non-committal grunt, "For all we know he's
sightseeing in the Far East, riding elephants for fun and pretending to be the
king of Siam."
Jarod's disappearance had put all of their lives on hold. Each day had
become more and more frustrating, revisiting useless facts and figures, old
notebooks, pressing Angelo for answers. With every day that passed, Broots got
a little edgier, Lyle got a little angrier and Sydney got a little quieter.
As for Miss Parker herself, she had found that her quest for answers had
stopped. Without Jarod to ask the right questions, she no longer knew where to
look for the right answers. The truth about her mother and Parker's heritage
seemed to slip out of her grasp a tiny bit with every passing moment, so her
days at the Centre had become endless nightmares of slowly twisting
disillusionment.
"I'm going to go..." Miss Parker stood up, trying to think of something to do.
Finally she shrugged, "I'm going. Page me if you find anything."
She could sense Lyle's gaze on her back as she left the room, shrugging
off the discomfort she felt. She hurried along the corridor, pushing open a
heavy door and stepping into what passed as the Centre's daycare unit. As she
stepped inside, a small, dark-haired toddler squealed, sitting up and waving his
arms for attention. Parker smiled, rushing forward to scoop up her baby
brother.
"Dante, sunshine!" she cooed.
"Sis-sis," Dante gabbled enthusiastically, waving his arms around. Miss Parker
cuddled him close, knowing she couldn't stay long - her father didn't like
anything distracting her from the search for Jarod.
She held and talked to him for a few more precious moments, before gently
putting him back on his rug, under his nanny's watchful eye. Dante pouted, his
soulful black eyes filling with tears.
"No-no!" he cried, and attempted to stand, letting out a cry of frustration when
he tumbled back on his bottom.
"Be good, sweetheart," Parker crooned, pressing a gentle kiss to his head.
Leaving the room, she bit her lip so as to not turn back at the sound of his
miserable cries.
Her mind wandering, she caught the elevator down to the sim lab, where she knew
she would find Sydney. Just inside the door she stopped, her gaze softening.
The psychiatrist stood amongst boxes and boxes of items that had once belonged
to Jarod.
"I keep waiting to hear his voice on the phone," Sydney said, without turning
around, "Asking me about the latest problem in his life."
"Perhaps he's learnt how to answer those questions for himself now," Miss Parker
said softly. She walked amongst the boxes until she faced the older man, who
was smiling sadly now.
"He's never gone this long before, not while he's been free," he murmured, and
she heard the thread of pain in his voice.
"He's a big boy, Syd," Parker said, a little more sharply than she had intended.
Sydney picked up a Pez dispenser at random, turning it over in his hand.
"He has much still to learn about the world, Miss Parker. We all do," he
murmured. He replaced the dispenser, picking up a red notebook instead and
flicking through it. It was from the time Jarod had pretended to be a cop, and
the headlines all seemed to blur together as Sydney turned the pages.
"He'll call, Sydney, he just wants time off," Miss Parker said, with more
confidence than she felt.
"How can you be so sure?"
Miss Parker pushed her hair out of her face, picking up one of Jarod's
many discarded ID cards, and staring down at his handsome, smiling face. She
gave a wry smile.
"Because sooner or later, he's going to want to torment us by informing us of
what a good time he's having."
****
Jarod was having a wonderful time.
"Here you go, Mr Capponi," he said with a smile, sliding a perfect short
machiatta across the table. The elderly Italian man smiled, lifting the
delicate glass.
"Graci, Jarod," he said.
Jarod grinned, throwing his cloth across his shoulder and sidling back
behind the counter of the small café with a feeling of supreme happiness. He
had been working in the tiny café on Brunswick St, one of Melbourne's most
popular places to eat, for almost a whole week, and had already made many new
friends. It was, he decided, the perfect holiday - far out of the Centre's
grasp, in a city full of friendly people, good food and spectacular coffee.
Of course, his caffeine intake had rocketed since he had taken the job at
Benito's, as there were many different blends to try. Jarod made himself a
latte with a mild feeling of guilt; at this rate, he'd be up for hours. He was
sipping on the creamy drink just as Bruno, the owner of Benito's, rose from one
of the tables, setting his paper aside and donning an apron.
"You can finish up now, Jarod, Melissa will be in for the evening shift soon,"
Bruno said in his slightly accented voice, and Jarod suppressed a pout. He
couldn't work all the time, no matter how much he enjoyed it.
"Thanks boss," he said amiably, pouring the rest of his latte into a takeaway
cup and pulling on his new leather jacket. Bruno gave him a nod and a smile as
he left, and Jarod stopped several times on the way out the door to say goodbye
to the regular customers.
Jarod caught a tram into the city centre, content to watch the other
people on the car with him. The were a few schoolgirls in uniform sitting near
him, a few business men and women, and an elderly couple sitting up the back,
their hands clasped. Outside the sky was growing dark with storm clouds,
although it was still quite warm and humid. At Flinders St Station Jarod
stepped off the tram, and the sky opened up as he dashed across the street. For
a short while he was under the overhang of the huge station's roof, but as he
headed down St Kilda road and across the Princess Bridge, he had no shelter, and
was drenched by the heavy downpour.
Hurrying across the bridge with his head down, Jarod didn't see the person
coming his way until it was too late, and they crashed into each other, bumping
heads. Jarod immediately muttered an apology, stepping back and steadying the
person he had run into.
She looked up, no sign of recognition on her face, and Jarod had to
control the sudden urge to flee. He searched her face for a moment; despite the
wet hair and the running makeup, the features were the same.
"Miss Parker?" he gasped, and she tilted her head in confusion.
"I'm sorry?" she asked. While the voice was familiar, it carried an undoubtedly
Australian accent.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" Jarod stammered, and looked around quickly, but
there was no sign of Sydney, Lyle, Broots, or any sweepers.
"Have we met?" she asked in confusion, and he focused on her face once more.
When he looked closer, he realized there were slight, but significant,
differences.
"I'm sorry, but you look... *exactly* like someone I know," Jarod said. The
woman blinked, pushing her wet hair out of her face nervously. Raindrops
shuddered on the ends of her lashes, and more crept down her cheeks like tears.
Jarod noticed her hair was longer, almost waist length, clinging wetly to her.
"I have to go," the woman said, and went to move away, but Jarod caught her by
the arm.
"Please... what's your name?" he asked, "Where do you live?"
The woman stared into his eyes for a long moment, and he could see the
fear there. Driven by some unknown instinct, he took her hand in his own.
"I can help you," Jarod said, "I don't know what they did to you, but I can help
you."
She bit her lip, and Jarod knew he had struck home. She dug in her
pocket, taking out a pen and a slip of paper. She scribbled a number onto it,
the blue ink already smudging in the rain, and pressed it into his hand. She
began to back away, and Jarod stared at the number, memorizing it instantly.
"Wait," he called, when she was almost ten feet away, "What's your name?"
The woman looked around again, although she appeared to be oblivious to
the passersby. She seemed to battle with herself for a moment, and then gave a
tiny smile.
"September. My name is September," she called, and then hurried away.
Jarod stood staring after her, heedless of the rain that soaked his
clothes, aware only of a horrible ache that had begun in his chest. The woman,
whoever she was, was either a clone or a twin; that he knew. What bothered him
was the probability that she was the former rather than the latter.
Turning his face up to the sky, Jarod closed his eyes and allowed the rain
to run down his face, down his neck, soaking his shirt. He took a deep, slow
breath, fighting an impossible fury.
"Hey, mate, are you okay?" somebody asked, and Jarod jerked his head down,
opening his eyes to smile weakly at a concerned looking man with an umbrella.
"Fine. Just... fine," he murmured. The man nodded slowly, and Jarod turned
away, walking with a heavy heart towards the entrance to Southbank.
In his hotel room, Jarod shucked off his wet clothing, heading straight
into the bathroom for a hot shower. He washed himself down quickly, shutting
off the water. He stood in the steamy bathroom for a few moments, contemplating
the chance meeting on the street. Impossible, he thought. Improbable, the
Centre would have had to be almost forty years advanced in research to create
clones the same age as Miss Parker. And there was no doubt that she was
approximately the same age as Miss Parker... He considered calling her, but
decided against it. Not until he had more information.
Jarod smiled wryly as he dressed, ruffling his hair dry with a towel. He
might finally have found a way to pry her free from the Centre once and all, yet
at her expense. And what a terrible expense.
"Alright September," Jarod said, settling onto the bed and booting up his
laptop, "Let's find out where you came from."
****
The next day, Jarod finished up his shift at Benito's at three, sitting
down at a reasonably private table in the back of the café. On the table before
him he placed his latte and a folder. As he sipped his coffee and watched the
door, he considered the information he had gathered - very little so far, but it
was a beginning, at least. He had managed to hack into the Centre mainframe,
tracking a regular money flow to a medical facility known as Alkina, an
Aboriginal name, meaning 'the moon'. Alkina was an isolated facility located in
Western Australia, somewhere within a day's drive of Perth; Jarod had been
unable to uncover more than that.
Alkina, whilst funded by the Centre, seemed to be an entirely separate
entity, and was not on the Centre's network. Jarod puzzled over this as he
sipped his coffee - either Alkina was so small as to be insignificant, or it
housed such great secrets as to be well disguised.
Jarod set down his coffee as a familiar shape darkened the doorway to the
café. The woman stepped inside, her eyes scanning over the customers. Jarod
was unsettled by the way her gaze passed over him without recognition, and he
lifted a hand to catch her attention. She gave a brisk nod, striding across the
room. When she reached his table she jerked out a chair, turning it around and
straddling it, folding her arms across the back of it.
Studying the woman, Jarod noted subtle differences yet again. Her hair
was shorter, scraped up in a high ponytail. She wore a plain white wife beater
and a pair of practical three-quarter length canvas pants and a pair of worn
looking runners. She was lean and fit, her arms well muscled, her expression
cool and calm.
"You're not September," Jarod said carefully. He had spoken to September on the
phone, and she had promised, in her soft, whispery voice, to meet him.
"No, I'm here in her place," the woman said, her accent distinctly English,
"Name's December. Who the hell are you? What do you want from us?"
Jarod nodded slowly, opening his file and twisting it around so December
could see. Another one, he mused, another clone from another country. "My name
is Jarod, and I want to help."
"Alkina. Clever boy," December said flatly, her eyes flicking over the
contents, "Are you here to try and take her back? Do you work for them?"
"No," Jarod said emphatically, "I escaped too. Four years ago, from the Centre.
I... I know a woman. She looks just like you. I had thought she was the only
one-"
"What is her name?" December interrupted. Jarod remembered Miss Parker as a
child leaning over in the sim lab, cupping her hand around her mouth and
whispering in his ear...
"January. Her name is January."
December eyed him with some surprise. "The first? Is she still there?
Can we get her out?" she asked, and Jarod shook his head.
"She wasn't a-"
"She must have come from Magena," December interrupted. She stared off into the
distance, tapping her fingers rhythmically, "It was abandoned so long ago, I
wondered what had happened to the Month."
"What are you? Where are you from?" Jarod asked, catching her attention again,
"Please, I need to know. I want to help..."
"Why should I trust you?" December asked.
"They kept me for thirty-three years," Jarod said quietly. Her face remained
expressionless, and he continued, "They stole me from my family when I was four
years old. I escaped four years ago. I have been running ever since."
"You tell me what you are," December said slowly, "And I will tell you what we
are."
****
"I am... the twelfth. The last," December said.
They were sitting in Jarod's hotel room. September had joined them in
time for an impromptu viewing of his DSAs. He had gained their grudging respect
and trust, and now the Halliburton case was set to one side - it was their turn
now.
"I'm the ninth," September said shyly, adjusting her long skirt nervously.
"Twelve. One for each month," Jarod said. It was worse than he could ever have
imagined.
"Yes. We were each, as far as I can tell, named after the month we were born
in. Twelve of us, created in different countries, different facilities. Spread
over the globe so that even if we did get out, the possibility of finding each
other was almost non-existent. September and I were lucky," December said. She
took her clone's hand in an affectionate gesture, "I found her- or, rather, we
found each other."
"I didn't even know there were others," September said quietly.
"And you did?" Jarod asked, directing his question to December.
"Yes. Only by accident - one of my handlers conveniently left a file for me to
find. She wanted me to be free, so she left the motivation for my escape lying
around," she said. There was a brief, grim silence, and then, "She's dead now.
I owe them for that. Immediately after my escape I went to America, Magena - I
knew that is where it had all begun. It was empty, I didn't stick around for
long because a contact had found someone who looked just like me in
Australia..."
Jarod nodded slowly, taking it all in. "September, you came from
Alkina... but you, December..."
"Luneta, just outside of London."
Luneta, Latin meaning 'the moon'. And Magena was Native American, Jarod
realized, meaning 'the coming moon'. Facilities all named after the moon, the
lunar cycle - twelve months.
"Where are the others?" he asked. December shrugged.
"I don't know. I haven't been out all that long - a year. September has only
been out for six months. I know only of Luneta, Alkina and Magena - and Magena
was closed down over thirty years ago. I don't know what happened to that Month
- that child."
Jarod knew. She had been raised as the Chairman's daughter... but how did
Lyle fit into all of this? How did the Red Files fit into it? "And what are
you? Are you Pretenders?"
"We are whatever they wanted us to be," September said bitterly, and Jarod
sensed there was a story behind that bitterness, but decided not to press.
"Like you, in a way, but we didn't run simulations. We were what they wanted us
to be, when they wanted us to be it. Test subjects, research assistants,
assassins..." December trailed off, her eyes darkening.
"I'm sorry," he said simply, and the two women nodded in unison, "How did you
escape?"
"I stole a helicopter," September said, sounding jittery, and he once again
sensed there was more to the story. This frail creature hardly seemed capable
of the motivation and daring it would take to do something as brash as stealing
a chopper... so perhaps she had been driven by great desperation and fear.
"I killed two sweepers," December said, lifting her head in a challenging glare.
Jarod opened his mouth, paused, and closed it with a snap. It was not his place
to judge her methods - despite the fact it was not the approach he would have
taken. But Jarod knew he had allies in the Centre, whereas December had already
told him that her only one was killed.
"What... how did you know about us? Do you know one?" September asked
uncertainly.
"If you know where she is, we can start making plans to get her out. Will you
help us?" December demanded.
Jarod scrubbed his hand over his face wearily. "It's not that simple," he
said. He stared morosely at the carpet for a moment, considering his options.
Finally he decided to be honest - they had confided in him, after all, "Her name
is January Parker. She is the Chairman's daughter."
There was a moment of silence. "What?" December snapped in disbelief.
"She works for them. She is... or I believed her to be, the daughter of
Catherine Jamieson Parker and her husband, who happens to be the Chairman of the
Centre," Jarod said, and shook his head roughly, "Christ, she looks so much like
her mother and it never even occurred to me-"
"You're saying she's - she's free?" December hissed.
"Yes. She is part of a team that has been assigned to tracking me down," Jarod
said. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over, and prowled over to
the windows of his spacious hotel room. He flicked open the curtains, staring
down at the street.
"Who is this Catherine?" September asked.
"Catherine must have been the original," Jarod murmured. His mind raced over
the possibilities, "Why her? Why Catherine?"
"This January. We should contact her-" December began to say, but Jarod waved
her into silence.
"It's more difficult than that. She's... She wouldn't take it well. It would
endanger her," he said gruffly.
"Like we're not endangered?!" December growled, "Living on the run? I want to
find the rest of them! Maybe, with all of us working together, we can get some
answers..."
Jarod could see people on the Southbank promenade below him, walking or
sitting at the cafes, some on bicycles. Normal people, living out their normal
lives...
"You sound as if you care for her..." September said softly. Jarod flinched at
her words.
"I encouraged her to leave the Centre, to go be with the man she loved. They
killed him," he said flatly, "They have her bound so tight with lies and
deception and guilt she can't see the danger ahead..."
"All the more reason to get her away from there," September said.
"There are others she protects!" he exclaimed, turning away from the window.
Broots, Sydney, Angelo, he thought.
"She is one of us! How can you possibly understand what that's like? We're
*clones*, Jarod, the only family we have is each other!" December protested.
"I understand. There is a boy out there, a fifteen-year-old boy who looks just
like me-" Jarod paused mid-sentence.
If Miss Parker was a clone, what guarantee was there that *he* wasn't?
"Oh God!" he groaned, and threw himself down on the bed. It was all too much to
bear, too much at once!
The mattress sunk as somebody sat on the bed beside him, and a hesitant
hand touched his shoulder gently. Her hand fluttered, as if afraid he would
turn on her at any moment, but determinedly stroked his back in a soothing
gesture. September, he surmised. Somber September.
"You've... you've seen the original?" she asked softly. Jarod turned his head
to the side, looking up at her.
"Catherine. She died a long time ago, murdered. I never understood why," he
said, and grimaced, "Perhaps now I have my answer."
"How did you know her?" December asked, her voice emotionless. She had taken
up Jarod's position at the window.
"I used to play with Miss Parker as a child, so of course I knew her mother..."
he shook his head sadly, "She was such a kind woman. Such a loving mother."
"Not our mother, really!" December scoffed. She turned to face them, her blue
eyes glittering, her accent becoming even more clipped with her bitterness,
"Sister? Is that what you'd call her? Or perhaps just call her the Template."
Jarod sat up, and September shied away, retreating to the other side of
the room. "She loved her daughter. She gave light and love to every child she
touched - she would have loved you too," he growled.
"It doesn't matter anymore. She's dead. We have no family but each other,"
September said sadly, and raised her eyes to meet Jarod's, "We need January,
don't you understand? It's all we have."
Jarod's heart seemed to break with her words. He understood all to well
the longing to belong, the yearning ache to find something solid to rest your
past and your future on. He could no more deny them this than he could deny
himself his own mother.
"We can't just ask her to walk away, she won't come willingly..." he warned.
December flashed him a predatory grin.
"So we don't ask, we grab!"
****
It was the end of another dead week. Miss Parker could feel a migraine
coming on as she finished up on the Friday evening, and doubted an Aspirin would
help. In fact, she doubted that anything other than a friendly visit from their
local Pretender would help, but that seemed out of the question. Jarod had
still not shown his face.
She gathered her belongings with the reluctant knowledge that she would
have no time off on the weekend, making her way out to her car and thumping into
the driver's seat miserably. She was getting more and more depressed about the
way things were going - so much so that she had *actually* considered going to
Sydney and requesting either medication or some sessions. She wasn't sure which
was worse.
The drive home seemed intolerably long, but Miss Parker finally pulled up
in her driveway, just before midnight. She slung her bag over her shoulder,
approaching her front door with her keys dangling from her fingers. She paused
just before entering, biting her lip. She had some sleeping tablets stashed
away somewhere, perhaps that might help her get some actual rest for once?
Unlocking the door, Parker made her way inside without bothering to turn
on any lights. She dropped her keys on the console, shedding her gun in its
holster and kicking off her shoes. She was halfway to the kitchen when she was
filled with the sudden terrible assurance that she was not alone in the house.
Parker whirled and made a dash for the gun, but a large male figure
stepped in front of her, blocking her way. They collided, and Miss Parker let
out a muffled growl. She managed to step back far enough to get a good swing,
and the man grunted as she hit him in the jaw squarely, before he grabbed her,
hauling her up against his body. They struggled, while she scratched and tried
to kick him, but he managed to twist her around with her arms behind her back.
She shoved against him, and they knocked against the console, sending a vase
crashing to the floor, knocking the phone off its hook.
They paused, breathing heavily, and Parker shuddered when she felt one of
his arms sliding around her waist, adjusting his grip so he held both of her
wrists in one of his. She was drawn back against him, pinned tightly. One of
his knees thrust between hers, nudging her leg up so she was off balance and
couldn't kick him.
"Stop fighting!" he breathed, and Parker realized with shock that it was Jarod.
She began to struggle more, but his grip on her wrists became painful, and he
growled at her, "Stop it! I'm not going to hurt you!"
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" she panted. Jarod held his lips
against her ear, still breathing harshly.
"It's very important that you come with me," he said, his warm breath tickling
the shell of her ear.
"I'm not going *anywhere* with you!" she growled. The arm around her waist
tightened, and there was another brief tussle as she tried to slip her hands
free from his.
"I wasn't giving you a choice in the matter!" he murmured once he had her under
control again. He turned his head, as if searching the darkness, "Are you going
to stand there all night?"
Miss Parker opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking
about, when she saw another figure, around her own height and build, step from
the shadows. As a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth she began to
struggle furiously again, but found her effort and her will were draining away
from her as she slipped into unconsciousness.
****
Author: Mandy
E-mail: kitty_amazon@yahoo.com
Rating: PG-13
Category: S
Spoilers: mid-season four.
Key words: UST, JMPR.
Author's Notes: Sequel to Taking the Moment.
Summary: Miss Parker and Jarod join forces again when Jarod discovers a
particularly nasty Centre secret - one with serious ramifications for Parker.
Their quest for the truth raises questions about their past, their future, and
their continuing unsteady emotional involvement... but who and what is the
Twelfth Distinction?
Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended, no profit gained.
The Twelfth Distinction
Jarod's absence was beginning to get annoying. Miss Parker sat at her
desk, a drink in one hand, and a ream of computer printouts in the other. It
was yet more useless data that really only meant one thing; Jarod was still
gone.
She was stuck with a fading tan, one anxious techie, a bear for a brother
and one mildly depressed shrink, all waiting for the one thing that would
provide relief from the daily monotony. A sign from Jarod. Any sign, any clue
or taunting comment. Even a stone cold trail would be better than nothing at
all.
A month earlier Jarod had called to announce that, after his incarceration
on Laredii Island, he was taking a break, and that they shouldn't expect to hear
from him for a while. Parker had scoffed at the time, as had Lyle and her
father. They all knew Jarod couldn't stay away from the Centre for long, and it
had already been a month and a half since his escape from Lyle's guard on the
Gold Coast.
His continuing silence had been enough to turn their scorn into doubt.
Exactly how long did the Pretender intend to stay away?
"Anything?" Lyle asked, propping his feet up on her desk. They had been
sitting there for an hour and a half in silence.
"Of course not," Miss Parker said impatiently, throwing the ream of papers down,
"When Jarod wants to be gone, he's gone."
"We've always been able to track him down before," Lyle snapped.
"That's because he's always *let* us track him down before. If he ever really
wanted to disappear, all he had to do was break off all contact and dissolve
into anonymity. Which he has done," she said tiredly, gulping down the last of
her drink and setting her glass aside. Her brother shifted restlessly.
"He'll call. He can't stay away," he growled.
Sydney, of course, was getting worried. He was concerned for Jarod's
health, despite Parker's repeated assurances that Laredii had done the Pretender
no serious damage, as well as his mental and emotional state. Miss Parker had
no easy answer for that; a gnawing doubt was growing that Jarod feared recapture
so much now that he was willing to drop off the face of the earth. Laredii had
found him, caught him and kept him for six months without him being able to do a
damn thing - perhaps that was enough to send him running for cover.
"We don't even know if he's back in the United States," she said idly, to which
her brother responded with a non-committal grunt, "For all we know he's
sightseeing in the Far East, riding elephants for fun and pretending to be the
king of Siam."
Jarod's disappearance had put all of their lives on hold. Each day had
become more and more frustrating, revisiting useless facts and figures, old
notebooks, pressing Angelo for answers. With every day that passed, Broots got
a little edgier, Lyle got a little angrier and Sydney got a little quieter.
As for Miss Parker herself, she had found that her quest for answers had
stopped. Without Jarod to ask the right questions, she no longer knew where to
look for the right answers. The truth about her mother and Parker's heritage
seemed to slip out of her grasp a tiny bit with every passing moment, so her
days at the Centre had become endless nightmares of slowly twisting
disillusionment.
"I'm going to go..." Miss Parker stood up, trying to think of something to do.
Finally she shrugged, "I'm going. Page me if you find anything."
She could sense Lyle's gaze on her back as she left the room, shrugging
off the discomfort she felt. She hurried along the corridor, pushing open a
heavy door and stepping into what passed as the Centre's daycare unit. As she
stepped inside, a small, dark-haired toddler squealed, sitting up and waving his
arms for attention. Parker smiled, rushing forward to scoop up her baby
brother.
"Dante, sunshine!" she cooed.
"Sis-sis," Dante gabbled enthusiastically, waving his arms around. Miss Parker
cuddled him close, knowing she couldn't stay long - her father didn't like
anything distracting her from the search for Jarod.
She held and talked to him for a few more precious moments, before gently
putting him back on his rug, under his nanny's watchful eye. Dante pouted, his
soulful black eyes filling with tears.
"No-no!" he cried, and attempted to stand, letting out a cry of frustration when
he tumbled back on his bottom.
"Be good, sweetheart," Parker crooned, pressing a gentle kiss to his head.
Leaving the room, she bit her lip so as to not turn back at the sound of his
miserable cries.
Her mind wandering, she caught the elevator down to the sim lab, where she knew
she would find Sydney. Just inside the door she stopped, her gaze softening.
The psychiatrist stood amongst boxes and boxes of items that had once belonged
to Jarod.
"I keep waiting to hear his voice on the phone," Sydney said, without turning
around, "Asking me about the latest problem in his life."
"Perhaps he's learnt how to answer those questions for himself now," Miss Parker
said softly. She walked amongst the boxes until she faced the older man, who
was smiling sadly now.
"He's never gone this long before, not while he's been free," he murmured, and
she heard the thread of pain in his voice.
"He's a big boy, Syd," Parker said, a little more sharply than she had intended.
Sydney picked up a Pez dispenser at random, turning it over in his hand.
"He has much still to learn about the world, Miss Parker. We all do," he
murmured. He replaced the dispenser, picking up a red notebook instead and
flicking through it. It was from the time Jarod had pretended to be a cop, and
the headlines all seemed to blur together as Sydney turned the pages.
"He'll call, Sydney, he just wants time off," Miss Parker said, with more
confidence than she felt.
"How can you be so sure?"
Miss Parker pushed her hair out of her face, picking up one of Jarod's
many discarded ID cards, and staring down at his handsome, smiling face. She
gave a wry smile.
"Because sooner or later, he's going to want to torment us by informing us of
what a good time he's having."
****
Jarod was having a wonderful time.
"Here you go, Mr Capponi," he said with a smile, sliding a perfect short
machiatta across the table. The elderly Italian man smiled, lifting the
delicate glass.
"Graci, Jarod," he said.
Jarod grinned, throwing his cloth across his shoulder and sidling back
behind the counter of the small café with a feeling of supreme happiness. He
had been working in the tiny café on Brunswick St, one of Melbourne's most
popular places to eat, for almost a whole week, and had already made many new
friends. It was, he decided, the perfect holiday - far out of the Centre's
grasp, in a city full of friendly people, good food and spectacular coffee.
Of course, his caffeine intake had rocketed since he had taken the job at
Benito's, as there were many different blends to try. Jarod made himself a
latte with a mild feeling of guilt; at this rate, he'd be up for hours. He was
sipping on the creamy drink just as Bruno, the owner of Benito's, rose from one
of the tables, setting his paper aside and donning an apron.
"You can finish up now, Jarod, Melissa will be in for the evening shift soon,"
Bruno said in his slightly accented voice, and Jarod suppressed a pout. He
couldn't work all the time, no matter how much he enjoyed it.
"Thanks boss," he said amiably, pouring the rest of his latte into a takeaway
cup and pulling on his new leather jacket. Bruno gave him a nod and a smile as
he left, and Jarod stopped several times on the way out the door to say goodbye
to the regular customers.
Jarod caught a tram into the city centre, content to watch the other
people on the car with him. The were a few schoolgirls in uniform sitting near
him, a few business men and women, and an elderly couple sitting up the back,
their hands clasped. Outside the sky was growing dark with storm clouds,
although it was still quite warm and humid. At Flinders St Station Jarod
stepped off the tram, and the sky opened up as he dashed across the street. For
a short while he was under the overhang of the huge station's roof, but as he
headed down St Kilda road and across the Princess Bridge, he had no shelter, and
was drenched by the heavy downpour.
Hurrying across the bridge with his head down, Jarod didn't see the person
coming his way until it was too late, and they crashed into each other, bumping
heads. Jarod immediately muttered an apology, stepping back and steadying the
person he had run into.
She looked up, no sign of recognition on her face, and Jarod had to
control the sudden urge to flee. He searched her face for a moment; despite the
wet hair and the running makeup, the features were the same.
"Miss Parker?" he gasped, and she tilted her head in confusion.
"I'm sorry?" she asked. While the voice was familiar, it carried an undoubtedly
Australian accent.
"Wh-what are you doing here?" Jarod stammered, and looked around quickly, but
there was no sign of Sydney, Lyle, Broots, or any sweepers.
"Have we met?" she asked in confusion, and he focused on her face once more.
When he looked closer, he realized there were slight, but significant,
differences.
"I'm sorry, but you look... *exactly* like someone I know," Jarod said. The
woman blinked, pushing her wet hair out of her face nervously. Raindrops
shuddered on the ends of her lashes, and more crept down her cheeks like tears.
Jarod noticed her hair was longer, almost waist length, clinging wetly to her.
"I have to go," the woman said, and went to move away, but Jarod caught her by
the arm.
"Please... what's your name?" he asked, "Where do you live?"
The woman stared into his eyes for a long moment, and he could see the
fear there. Driven by some unknown instinct, he took her hand in his own.
"I can help you," Jarod said, "I don't know what they did to you, but I can help
you."
She bit her lip, and Jarod knew he had struck home. She dug in her
pocket, taking out a pen and a slip of paper. She scribbled a number onto it,
the blue ink already smudging in the rain, and pressed it into his hand. She
began to back away, and Jarod stared at the number, memorizing it instantly.
"Wait," he called, when she was almost ten feet away, "What's your name?"
The woman looked around again, although she appeared to be oblivious to
the passersby. She seemed to battle with herself for a moment, and then gave a
tiny smile.
"September. My name is September," she called, and then hurried away.
Jarod stood staring after her, heedless of the rain that soaked his
clothes, aware only of a horrible ache that had begun in his chest. The woman,
whoever she was, was either a clone or a twin; that he knew. What bothered him
was the probability that she was the former rather than the latter.
Turning his face up to the sky, Jarod closed his eyes and allowed the rain
to run down his face, down his neck, soaking his shirt. He took a deep, slow
breath, fighting an impossible fury.
"Hey, mate, are you okay?" somebody asked, and Jarod jerked his head down,
opening his eyes to smile weakly at a concerned looking man with an umbrella.
"Fine. Just... fine," he murmured. The man nodded slowly, and Jarod turned
away, walking with a heavy heart towards the entrance to Southbank.
In his hotel room, Jarod shucked off his wet clothing, heading straight
into the bathroom for a hot shower. He washed himself down quickly, shutting
off the water. He stood in the steamy bathroom for a few moments, contemplating
the chance meeting on the street. Impossible, he thought. Improbable, the
Centre would have had to be almost forty years advanced in research to create
clones the same age as Miss Parker. And there was no doubt that she was
approximately the same age as Miss Parker... He considered calling her, but
decided against it. Not until he had more information.
Jarod smiled wryly as he dressed, ruffling his hair dry with a towel. He
might finally have found a way to pry her free from the Centre once and all, yet
at her expense. And what a terrible expense.
"Alright September," Jarod said, settling onto the bed and booting up his
laptop, "Let's find out where you came from."
****
The next day, Jarod finished up his shift at Benito's at three, sitting
down at a reasonably private table in the back of the café. On the table before
him he placed his latte and a folder. As he sipped his coffee and watched the
door, he considered the information he had gathered - very little so far, but it
was a beginning, at least. He had managed to hack into the Centre mainframe,
tracking a regular money flow to a medical facility known as Alkina, an
Aboriginal name, meaning 'the moon'. Alkina was an isolated facility located in
Western Australia, somewhere within a day's drive of Perth; Jarod had been
unable to uncover more than that.
Alkina, whilst funded by the Centre, seemed to be an entirely separate
entity, and was not on the Centre's network. Jarod puzzled over this as he
sipped his coffee - either Alkina was so small as to be insignificant, or it
housed such great secrets as to be well disguised.
Jarod set down his coffee as a familiar shape darkened the doorway to the
café. The woman stepped inside, her eyes scanning over the customers. Jarod
was unsettled by the way her gaze passed over him without recognition, and he
lifted a hand to catch her attention. She gave a brisk nod, striding across the
room. When she reached his table she jerked out a chair, turning it around and
straddling it, folding her arms across the back of it.
Studying the woman, Jarod noted subtle differences yet again. Her hair
was shorter, scraped up in a high ponytail. She wore a plain white wife beater
and a pair of practical three-quarter length canvas pants and a pair of worn
looking runners. She was lean and fit, her arms well muscled, her expression
cool and calm.
"You're not September," Jarod said carefully. He had spoken to September on the
phone, and she had promised, in her soft, whispery voice, to meet him.
"No, I'm here in her place," the woman said, her accent distinctly English,
"Name's December. Who the hell are you? What do you want from us?"
Jarod nodded slowly, opening his file and twisting it around so December
could see. Another one, he mused, another clone from another country. "My name
is Jarod, and I want to help."
"Alkina. Clever boy," December said flatly, her eyes flicking over the
contents, "Are you here to try and take her back? Do you work for them?"
"No," Jarod said emphatically, "I escaped too. Four years ago, from the Centre.
I... I know a woman. She looks just like you. I had thought she was the only
one-"
"What is her name?" December interrupted. Jarod remembered Miss Parker as a
child leaning over in the sim lab, cupping her hand around her mouth and
whispering in his ear...
"January. Her name is January."
December eyed him with some surprise. "The first? Is she still there?
Can we get her out?" she asked, and Jarod shook his head.
"She wasn't a-"
"She must have come from Magena," December interrupted. She stared off into the
distance, tapping her fingers rhythmically, "It was abandoned so long ago, I
wondered what had happened to the Month."
"What are you? Where are you from?" Jarod asked, catching her attention again,
"Please, I need to know. I want to help..."
"Why should I trust you?" December asked.
"They kept me for thirty-three years," Jarod said quietly. Her face remained
expressionless, and he continued, "They stole me from my family when I was four
years old. I escaped four years ago. I have been running ever since."
"You tell me what you are," December said slowly, "And I will tell you what we
are."
****
"I am... the twelfth. The last," December said.
They were sitting in Jarod's hotel room. September had joined them in
time for an impromptu viewing of his DSAs. He had gained their grudging respect
and trust, and now the Halliburton case was set to one side - it was their turn
now.
"I'm the ninth," September said shyly, adjusting her long skirt nervously.
"Twelve. One for each month," Jarod said. It was worse than he could ever have
imagined.
"Yes. We were each, as far as I can tell, named after the month we were born
in. Twelve of us, created in different countries, different facilities. Spread
over the globe so that even if we did get out, the possibility of finding each
other was almost non-existent. September and I were lucky," December said. She
took her clone's hand in an affectionate gesture, "I found her- or, rather, we
found each other."
"I didn't even know there were others," September said quietly.
"And you did?" Jarod asked, directing his question to December.
"Yes. Only by accident - one of my handlers conveniently left a file for me to
find. She wanted me to be free, so she left the motivation for my escape lying
around," she said. There was a brief, grim silence, and then, "She's dead now.
I owe them for that. Immediately after my escape I went to America, Magena - I
knew that is where it had all begun. It was empty, I didn't stick around for
long because a contact had found someone who looked just like me in
Australia..."
Jarod nodded slowly, taking it all in. "September, you came from
Alkina... but you, December..."
"Luneta, just outside of London."
Luneta, Latin meaning 'the moon'. And Magena was Native American, Jarod
realized, meaning 'the coming moon'. Facilities all named after the moon, the
lunar cycle - twelve months.
"Where are the others?" he asked. December shrugged.
"I don't know. I haven't been out all that long - a year. September has only
been out for six months. I know only of Luneta, Alkina and Magena - and Magena
was closed down over thirty years ago. I don't know what happened to that Month
- that child."
Jarod knew. She had been raised as the Chairman's daughter... but how did
Lyle fit into all of this? How did the Red Files fit into it? "And what are
you? Are you Pretenders?"
"We are whatever they wanted us to be," September said bitterly, and Jarod
sensed there was a story behind that bitterness, but decided not to press.
"Like you, in a way, but we didn't run simulations. We were what they wanted us
to be, when they wanted us to be it. Test subjects, research assistants,
assassins..." December trailed off, her eyes darkening.
"I'm sorry," he said simply, and the two women nodded in unison, "How did you
escape?"
"I stole a helicopter," September said, sounding jittery, and he once again
sensed there was more to the story. This frail creature hardly seemed capable
of the motivation and daring it would take to do something as brash as stealing
a chopper... so perhaps she had been driven by great desperation and fear.
"I killed two sweepers," December said, lifting her head in a challenging glare.
Jarod opened his mouth, paused, and closed it with a snap. It was not his place
to judge her methods - despite the fact it was not the approach he would have
taken. But Jarod knew he had allies in the Centre, whereas December had already
told him that her only one was killed.
"What... how did you know about us? Do you know one?" September asked
uncertainly.
"If you know where she is, we can start making plans to get her out. Will you
help us?" December demanded.
Jarod scrubbed his hand over his face wearily. "It's not that simple," he
said. He stared morosely at the carpet for a moment, considering his options.
Finally he decided to be honest - they had confided in him, after all, "Her name
is January Parker. She is the Chairman's daughter."
There was a moment of silence. "What?" December snapped in disbelief.
"She works for them. She is... or I believed her to be, the daughter of
Catherine Jamieson Parker and her husband, who happens to be the Chairman of the
Centre," Jarod said, and shook his head roughly, "Christ, she looks so much like
her mother and it never even occurred to me-"
"You're saying she's - she's free?" December hissed.
"Yes. She is part of a team that has been assigned to tracking me down," Jarod
said. He stood up abruptly, almost knocking his chair over, and prowled over to
the windows of his spacious hotel room. He flicked open the curtains, staring
down at the street.
"Who is this Catherine?" September asked.
"Catherine must have been the original," Jarod murmured. His mind raced over
the possibilities, "Why her? Why Catherine?"
"This January. We should contact her-" December began to say, but Jarod waved
her into silence.
"It's more difficult than that. She's... She wouldn't take it well. It would
endanger her," he said gruffly.
"Like we're not endangered?!" December growled, "Living on the run? I want to
find the rest of them! Maybe, with all of us working together, we can get some
answers..."
Jarod could see people on the Southbank promenade below him, walking or
sitting at the cafes, some on bicycles. Normal people, living out their normal
lives...
"You sound as if you care for her..." September said softly. Jarod flinched at
her words.
"I encouraged her to leave the Centre, to go be with the man she loved. They
killed him," he said flatly, "They have her bound so tight with lies and
deception and guilt she can't see the danger ahead..."
"All the more reason to get her away from there," September said.
"There are others she protects!" he exclaimed, turning away from the window.
Broots, Sydney, Angelo, he thought.
"She is one of us! How can you possibly understand what that's like? We're
*clones*, Jarod, the only family we have is each other!" December protested.
"I understand. There is a boy out there, a fifteen-year-old boy who looks just
like me-" Jarod paused mid-sentence.
If Miss Parker was a clone, what guarantee was there that *he* wasn't?
"Oh God!" he groaned, and threw himself down on the bed. It was all too much to
bear, too much at once!
The mattress sunk as somebody sat on the bed beside him, and a hesitant
hand touched his shoulder gently. Her hand fluttered, as if afraid he would
turn on her at any moment, but determinedly stroked his back in a soothing
gesture. September, he surmised. Somber September.
"You've... you've seen the original?" she asked softly. Jarod turned his head
to the side, looking up at her.
"Catherine. She died a long time ago, murdered. I never understood why," he
said, and grimaced, "Perhaps now I have my answer."
"How did you know her?" December asked, her voice emotionless. She had taken
up Jarod's position at the window.
"I used to play with Miss Parker as a child, so of course I knew her mother..."
he shook his head sadly, "She was such a kind woman. Such a loving mother."
"Not our mother, really!" December scoffed. She turned to face them, her blue
eyes glittering, her accent becoming even more clipped with her bitterness,
"Sister? Is that what you'd call her? Or perhaps just call her the Template."
Jarod sat up, and September shied away, retreating to the other side of
the room. "She loved her daughter. She gave light and love to every child she
touched - she would have loved you too," he growled.
"It doesn't matter anymore. She's dead. We have no family but each other,"
September said sadly, and raised her eyes to meet Jarod's, "We need January,
don't you understand? It's all we have."
Jarod's heart seemed to break with her words. He understood all to well
the longing to belong, the yearning ache to find something solid to rest your
past and your future on. He could no more deny them this than he could deny
himself his own mother.
"We can't just ask her to walk away, she won't come willingly..." he warned.
December flashed him a predatory grin.
"So we don't ask, we grab!"
****
It was the end of another dead week. Miss Parker could feel a migraine
coming on as she finished up on the Friday evening, and doubted an Aspirin would
help. In fact, she doubted that anything other than a friendly visit from their
local Pretender would help, but that seemed out of the question. Jarod had
still not shown his face.
She gathered her belongings with the reluctant knowledge that she would
have no time off on the weekend, making her way out to her car and thumping into
the driver's seat miserably. She was getting more and more depressed about the
way things were going - so much so that she had *actually* considered going to
Sydney and requesting either medication or some sessions. She wasn't sure which
was worse.
The drive home seemed intolerably long, but Miss Parker finally pulled up
in her driveway, just before midnight. She slung her bag over her shoulder,
approaching her front door with her keys dangling from her fingers. She paused
just before entering, biting her lip. She had some sleeping tablets stashed
away somewhere, perhaps that might help her get some actual rest for once?
Unlocking the door, Parker made her way inside without bothering to turn
on any lights. She dropped her keys on the console, shedding her gun in its
holster and kicking off her shoes. She was halfway to the kitchen when she was
filled with the sudden terrible assurance that she was not alone in the house.
Parker whirled and made a dash for the gun, but a large male figure
stepped in front of her, blocking her way. They collided, and Miss Parker let
out a muffled growl. She managed to step back far enough to get a good swing,
and the man grunted as she hit him in the jaw squarely, before he grabbed her,
hauling her up against his body. They struggled, while she scratched and tried
to kick him, but he managed to twist her around with her arms behind her back.
She shoved against him, and they knocked against the console, sending a vase
crashing to the floor, knocking the phone off its hook.
They paused, breathing heavily, and Parker shuddered when she felt one of
his arms sliding around her waist, adjusting his grip so he held both of her
wrists in one of his. She was drawn back against him, pinned tightly. One of
his knees thrust between hers, nudging her leg up so she was off balance and
couldn't kick him.
"Stop fighting!" he breathed, and Parker realized with shock that it was Jarod.
She began to struggle more, but his grip on her wrists became painful, and he
growled at her, "Stop it! I'm not going to hurt you!"
"What the hell are you doing in my house?" she panted. Jarod held his lips
against her ear, still breathing harshly.
"It's very important that you come with me," he said, his warm breath tickling
the shell of her ear.
"I'm not going *anywhere* with you!" she growled. The arm around her waist
tightened, and there was another brief tussle as she tried to slip her hands
free from his.
"I wasn't giving you a choice in the matter!" he murmured once he had her under
control again. He turned his head, as if searching the darkness, "Are you going
to stand there all night?"
Miss Parker opened her mouth to ask him what the hell he was talking
about, when she saw another figure, around her own height and build, step from
the shadows. As a cloth was pressed over her nose and mouth she began to
struggle furiously again, but found her effort and her will were draining away
from her as she slipped into unconsciousness.
****