The Begotten
R. Winters
Disclaimer: The Pretender, it's characters and ideas, do not belong to me, however the events and characters not part of the original Pretender series do belong to me.
I wasn't going to start posting a new story until my other stories were finished... but this idea wouldn't leave me alone so I figured I might as well see what other people think of it. I'll update once a month for the time being, I think, because I really do need to finish my other stories before I spend all of my time working on this one.
I first watched The Pretender back when it came out in the 90s, but I only saw a few episodes and it disappeared into the back of my mind. Then I found a great deal on the first season at a garage sale a few months ago, and since have collected all of the seasons and the movies to sate my apparent inability to think of anything else. The interviews on the DVDs all state that the creators think of it as a show about 'family', so I think this is a natural progression of the series... that and I'm a big Nia/Jarod fan, and was always disappointed that he never revisited her in the series... Anyway, I hope you enjoy chapter 1 of The Begotten, and I look forward to hearing your thoughts on this.
Thanks to planet p for pointing out a few of my typos in this one...
Chapter 1 – Toluca
"Jarod!"
The snow blew around them with a fresh fury, and Jarod drew his arctic jacket more tightly around himself, shivering. He smiled, although his lips couldn't be seen buried beneath several layers of scarf.
"You've got to help me!"
"You mean like you helped Trevor?" Jarod questioned, coldly, dispassionate eyes fixed on the other man.
Venard Kingsley struggled again to free his leg from the pike driven through it, trapping him high on Mount McKinley, then fell back, sucking in a desperate lungful of air.
"Please!" He called out again, "I'll die!"
"That's the idea," Jarod agreed genially, "It was, after all, what you wanted when you left your partner here to freeze."
"What do you want, Hammond?" Venard demanded angrily, "Do you want money? Help me and I'll do anything!"
"Did Trevor beg?" Jarod asked, "Did he shout after you as you trekked back down the mountain, knowing that he would never survive the night? Did he?"
Venard released a frustrated yell. "Is that what you want?" He shouted, "You want me to admit that I killed Trevor?"
Jarod said nothing, simply staring at the man expectantly.
"Fine!" Venard snapped, "I left him up here—but I didn't kill him! It was an accident, like I said. There was nothing I could have done!"
"You could have helped him!" Jarod snapped, "But you didn't—because you were greedy! Maybe you didn't orchestrate the accident yourself, but make no mistake, Venard, you were the one that killed him. And for what—a larger piece of the prize? You could have saved his life, but instead you left him to die so that you could finish the contest first. I hope you used that money well, Venard, because you're never going to see it again."
Jarod turned away from the man, heavy boots crunching on the hard, compact snow even as Venard yelled after him desperately.
"Hey."
Jarod glanced at Jack briefly as the other man slipped into the front seat beside him, still adjusting a pair of thermal long-johns. He smiled, "Time to switch up?"
"Switch after grub," Jack grunted, pulling out a well-worn map and making a show of unfolding it. "Stop at Sally's—Exit 22. Should be just a mile or so up the road."
Jarod nodded, "Actually a quarter, according to the sign we passed before you came down."
Jack peered out the window, squinting into the blowing snow. He pointed, "You're right—there it is."
Turning the wheel, Jarod eased the large truck off the highway, pulling it to a stop a minute later in front of a small, dimly lit diner. Shifting everything to park, Jarod finished shutting the engine down and grabbed his heavy coat, following his partner out of the cab.
"Well, that's it, Jarod," Jack said as he opened the door and ushered the younger man ahead of him into the cheerfully warm atmosphere waiting for them. "The hard part is over."
Jarod grunted in acknowledgement, "The Haul Road. Somehow I imagined it would be more difficult."
"Eh! Shut the door—you're letting the cold in!" The middle-aged woman at the counter shouted out.
The two men shuffled inside and Jarod offered an apologetic smile. "Don't get me wrong," he continued, looking at Jack, "It's not a walk in the park, but with all the stories I've heard I expected ice pits and grizzly attacks."
Jack snorted, "The media always plays up the dangers."
Sliding into a pair of open seats at the counter—and receiving a few half-hearted welcomes from the other truckers on the line—Jarod grabbed the paper from the end, glancing it over as the waitress filled another order.
Accidental Death Declared Murder, a headline halfway down the front page announced, the smaller subtitle giving the details: Kingsley Awaiting Trial after Losing Leg to Denali.
He smiled thinly; he wondered what Trevor Bison would have given to live another twenty years with a prosthetic limb. More than Kingsley would get in jail, no doubt.
Casually, he flipped through the following pages, glancing up and down the text—a glass hit the counter before him and he looked up. The middle-aged waitress didn't smile at him, already moving back down the counter, but a steaming mug of coffee was all the kindness Jarod could possibly want at the moment.
"Thank you," he called after her, lifting the cup with one hand as he turned his eyes back to the paper.
The coffee never touched his lips—instead, he found himself staring at an ad on page 13E. Dread bubbled inside of him and he reread the words again, wishing his genius mind would discern something more than what was printed.
"Jarod—Come to Toluca, I need you!"
The man's mind turned to Toluca. To Oregon, where he'd been a forest ranger and saved a young man named Victor Simpkins. And met the woman he loved. Something was wrong.
It could be a trap. The Centre was crippled, but far from destroyed and Jarod had lived in fear too long to allow his mind to be at ease. If it was a trap, it was one they hadn't tried before, and someone who knew him well would have had to orchestrate it.
He glanced at the date on the paper; it was five days old. And he was in the middle of nowhere. It would take at least another day to reach a serviceable airport, and that was only if he could convince Jack to take him on a small side-trip.
Not going wasn't an option, though—Nia might be in danger.
"Hey, you okay?" Jack asked, breaking Jarod from his thoughts.
The younger man looked up, still having trouble shaking off the disturbing discovery. He forced a smile. "Fine. I'm suddenly not hungry. Let's get back on the road; I'll drive while you eat."
The older trucker frowned at him dubiously, but shrugged. "Whatever you say, Jarod." He turned his attention to the waitress further down the counter, "Eh! Peggy, gimme mine to go!"
Nia paced the length of her living room, thoughts and emotions in turmoil. Surely Jarod had gotten her message by now. She glanced at her things; a bulging green sack ready for her to slip on at a moment's notice. She should just go alone.
The police wouldn't be able to do anything, and she was wasting time waiting for Jarod. He might not have even seen her message. He might not remember.
Stifling a sob, Nia collapsed on the couch, head drooping in her hands as tears spilled from her eyes. She was out of her league, what could she do that the police couldn't do?
But there was always Jarod; she just had to hope that he'd seen her messages. That he'd come. That there would be something he could do and he wouldn't hate her.
Nia looked up sharply as a quick, rapping knock sounded on her door. She stood, wiping at her bloodshot eyes and wasting a few seconds in an attempt to make herself look presentable. She knew it was futile the moment she started—she hadn't slept in days and she'd spent more time crying than not. She'd lost weight and the worry lines would probably never disappear from her face.
Crossing the room quickly, Nia threw the door open, half expecting to see Derek or one of the many police officers that had been interviewing her almost constantly for the first few days. A second sob stuck in her throat when she saw him—looking just like he had the last time she'd seen him.
Without a thought, Nia threw herself against him, clinging to his leather jacket, and sobbed.
It took a moment for Jarod to react. Slowly his hands rose to her back, forming a gentle embrace around her. Making hushing sounds, he maneuvered her back into the house, reaching back to shut the door behind him before replacing his hand and using it to make soothing motions on her back.
Nia only cried louder.
Ten minutes after he'd arrived, Jarod finally calmed Nia down. She sat on the sofa, nursing a steaming mug of tea. Her eyes were red and her cheeks sallow. She didn't hold the same fighting spirit she'd had the last time he'd seen her. She seemed broken, and very sad.
"Nia," he said quietly, shifting closer to her on the couch and touching one of her hands. The woman flinched slightly but didn't pull away. He sighed, "I'm sorry, Nia."
The woman looked up in surprise, dark eyes wide. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
He smiled thinly, "I'm sorry I never came back. I meant to, I just…" He trailed off miserably, not sure how to adequately express himself. He didn't have a real excuse. After everything that had happened on Carthis… there hadn't been a day that he hadn't thought about coming back to her. But there was always more for him to do, and he didn't dare settle anywhere for long with the Centre still out there.
"Did you find your family?" Nia asked sympathetically.
Jarod shook his head. "I almost met my mother, but every time I have the chance to see one of my family members, we always seem to be forced apart again. I'm still looking for them. Hopefully, next time, we'll be able to be together for good."
Nia nodded vaguely. Tears welled in her eyes again.
Frowning, Jarod leaned closer, draping an arm around her slender shoulders—they shook and trembled. "What is it, Nia? Why did you call me here? Your message implied that it was important."
She looked at him, tears leaking from her eyes and he cringed.
"Not that I don't appreciate the opportunity to see you!" Jarod said quickly, "I'd have come just for that; but your message said you needed something. Please, I hate to see you like this, Nia."
Instead of answering, Nia reached in the left breast pocket of her tan jacket and pulled out a photograph, silently handing it to the man. Jarod took it carefully and turned it over, breath catching at what he saw.
A little boy smiled back at him, skin a light shade of brown and black hair trimmed short. His light brown eyes shone brightly and he was dressed in climbing gear, bracing himself on top of a rock that looked like it was probably as big as he was in front of the looming trees of the National Forest.
"That's Luke," Nia supplied softly, "Well, Lucas, but I call him Luke. I thought it was fitting… since he never knew his father. But he wants to be just like him," she motioned to the picture, "He's already decided he wants to be a forest ranger, just like his dad. Well, that or a Jedi Knight." Her eyes rose, meeting Jarod's meaningfully.
"His… dad?" Jarod almost choked on the word, emotion swelling in his chest as his eyes fell on familiar features. The eyes were his honey-brown eyes. The curve of the jaw was his. The small, quirked smile—his.
"Is he…?" Jarod's mind had pieced it together, but his mouth didn't seem to be working in sync with the rest of him. "Am I…?"
Nia stared at him, fear, sorrow, hope shining clearly out of her dark eyes. "He's our son, Jarod."
Jarod opened his mouth, but no sound came out. Tears rose in his own eyes and he tried to blink them away, looking down at the picture again. Such a beautiful boy—his son. He could hardly believe he was a father; but Nia wouldn't lie to him.
"Where…?" Jarod breathed, voice breaking before he managed to finish the question. "Where is he? I want to see him."
Nia wasn't looking at him now. Instead, she was staring down at her own clasped hands, tears in her eyes again. "That's why I called you here, Jarod," she said brokenly, her voice catching. "Luke… he's gone." She looked up, meeting his eyes meaningfully, "I think they took him, Jarod."
Jarod couldn't breathe for an entire thirty seconds. They could only mean the Centre. They had been suspiciously quiet lately—he hadn't seen a trace of Miss Parker since he'd left her in the wreckage of an airplane with her wreckage of a family. He'd never believed it would last indefinitely, and if Nia was right, they were up to their old tricks again. Only this time they had his son. His chest ached, fear and pain and anger welling inside of him. They'd taken his son!
Nia saw the flash in his eyes and flinched back.
"Tell me exactly what happened," Jarod demanded, turning to face her, unable to hide the old hatred that had resurfaced inside of him. Did he have to kill every person that was ever connected to the Centre to finally take back his life? If that's what it took, he would do it for Luke.
Nodding, Nia stood. She started to pace again.
"I had gone to work, and dropped Luke off at daycare, as usual," she explained, "Only when I went to get him afterwards, he was already gone. They said he'd been picked up earlier by a man. They said he claimed he was Luke's father, and Luke seemed eager to go with him, so they let him."
A sob worked its way out of Nia's throat and she shook her head, raising a hand to hide her eyes even though Jarod had already seen her cry.
"I made sure that Luke knew about you," she said miserably, "I told him he had a father; I told him you loved him, and you'd come back to us some day, Jarod. Luke was always talking about what it was going to be like when he met you. I think they sent someone pretending to be you—he must have said he was you."
Jarod stood quickly and crossed to the woman, wrapping his arms around her again. "It wasn't your fault," he said, gently but insistent. "I never would have wanted Luke to feel like I'd abandoned him. I'm glad he knew about me, at least." For so long he'd wondered about his own family—if they'd abandoned him, if they loved him, if they were dead… he never wanted anyone, his son least of all, to feel that painful ignorance.
Nia looked up at him quickly, her eyes shining from tears. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you, Jarod," she said quickly, words stumbling on top of each other, "I wanted to—god, how I wanted to. I didn't know how; it didn't seem like the kind of thing I should broadcast, and I didn't know how to get a hold of you, you said it wasn't safe!"
"I know," Jarod said gently, ignoring the pain in his own heart. He'd had a son and he hadn't even known it—it was almost too much to bear.
"It turns out it didn't matter," Nia muttered miserably, "They probably knew about Luke from the beginning. He was smart, you know—like you. He's only four, but he reads everything he can get his hands on and knows more about wilderness survival than most people learn in a life time," she laughed, meeting his surprised eyes, "He wants to be a ranger, remember?"
"Like me," Jarod confirmed grimly, recalling the week he'd spent in the National Forest.
Nia melted in his arms and was crying all over again, feeling stupid but unable to stop herself. "God, Jarod, we have to find him. They're—they're going to do to him what they did to you, aren't they?"
Jarod's heart tore at the thought of a child—his child—going through that all over again. It was a cycle that had to be broken. The Centre had taken so many innocent lives; he couldn't let it take his son's life, too. He couldn't let it take Luke.
"I'll find him," Jarod said firmly, "I promise. And when I do, we'll be a family together."
To his surprise, Nia shook her head, twisting to look up at him. "No, Jarod. When we become a family… I want your father to walk me down the aisle and your mother to send us off. You can't throw away your dream of finding them just for us." She smiled a watery smile, "Although… Luke and I would love it if you'd visit once in a while."
Jarod stared at her with more love than he'd felt even the first time he'd held her in his arms. "I promise," he said, and pressed his lips on hers.
Nia was still frozen, overcome by the passion of the moment when Jarod pulled away, suddenly moving about the room frantically.
"The message you sent me was over five days old when I got it," Jarod said, speaking in a quick, business-like manner. They had to get this done; they had to get their son back as quickly as possible, before the Centre had the opportunity to do anything irreversible to him. "When was Luke taken?"
"Last Monday," Nia answered quickly, breaking out of her daze and hurrying to catch up with him. "What I don't understand is why they waited until now to take him."
"They probably wanted to wait until they were sure he was what they wanted," Jarod said grimly, "I was five when they took me, I think."
"But they weren't watching you grow up," Nia said. She faltered when she saw the expression on his face, "Were they?"
Jarod nodded, "The Centre had their eyes on me since even before I was born. They were behind the clinic my parents used. We should interview that daycare you left Luke at—maybe the attendants can fill us in on what the man who took him looked like."
Nia nodded, following him to the door. She grabbed her bag on the way; they wouldn't have to come back until they'd found Luke. "I wish I'd had a picture to show him," she murmured, "Then Luke wouldn't have been tricked so easily."
"Which just means they would have had to do something more extreme to take him," Jarod said, "Like terrify him while they stole him out of his bed. Hopefully, if he thinks he's with his father, he won't be as afraid as I was."
"Have you seen these symbols before, Luke?"
The boy looked at the blocks spread out on the table in front of him, eyes roving swiftly over the chain above the set of free blocks. He nodded.
"I'd like you to solve this equation," the man said. "Take as much time as you need."
The boy smiled, immediately reaching for the blocks. Swiftly, he stacked one on top of another until he had a nine-block tower.
The man frowned, "Luke, I asked you to solve the equation, not play with them."
Reaching out, the boy turned the tower. The man's eyes widened—from top to bottom, the tower spelled out the answer completely.
"Very good, Luke," he conceded.
Luke's smile widened, "Can I see my daddy, now?"
The man nodded towards the door. Luke twisted in his seat and his smile broke into a grin. Jumping to his feet, he ran to the man, tackling his legs with a hug.
The man chuckled, patting him on his back. He looked past the boy, at the psychologist rising from the table. "How did he do?"
"Twenty three seconds," the man replied, turning the tower to face the man, "He's set a new record."
Smiling, the man patted Luke's back again, "That's my son. You make a father proud, Luke."
Luke stepped back to look up at the man's face. "When are we going to go home?"
"Not just yet, Luke," the man said gently.
Jarod stood a step in front of Nia as he knocked on the door. They heard raised voices, then footsteps, and finally the door opened. A middle-aged woman with frizzy red hair answered, smile slipping off her face as her eyes landed on Nia.
"Ms. Pedron," she greeted, "I'm so sorry about Luke."
"That's what we came to talk to you about," Jarod supplied, "We want you to tell us about the man who took off with Luke."
The woman looked uncertainly at Jarod, "Who are you?"
"This is Luke's father," Nia supplied grimly, "Luke's real father."
The woman paled a shade, looking away. "Oh. I'm… I'm sorry, Mr…?"
"Forest," Jarod supplied, adopting the name he'd used the last time he was in these parts, "But please call me Jarod."
"I'll do whatever I can to help," the woman assured him, "I swear, I thought he was Luke's father. I tried calling Nia, but she was out of the shop, and Luke was so adamant about going with him."
"We can start with a name," Jarod suggested, "What did he call himself?"
"Jarod," the woman replied, hesitant eyes darting to look him up and down. "Jarod Forest, he said. I thought… well, his name was the same, and Luke said it was his father. I didn't know…"
"There was no way you could have," Jarod assured her, "We aren't here to cast blame; we just want to get our son back. May we come in?"
The woman nodded, stepping back for them to enter. "Can I get you anything?" She asked. A particularly loud peal of laughter issued from the other room—she glanced towards it, and then the couple. "They love Sherrie's stories."
Following her, Jarod nodded, "Do you have some paper I can sketch on, and a pencil?"
She stared at him blankly for a moment before offering, "I have construction paper and crayons."
Jarod smiled, "That'll work."
The woman nodded. "Wait here," she offered, ushering the pair into a sitting room, "I'll get the paper and be back in a minute."
"Crayons?" Nia asked Jarod, eyebrow raised.
"I want to draw a profile," Jarod explained, "That way we'll have a positive identity."
"You can do that?" Nia asked in surprise.
Jarod smirked, "Of course. I've been a police sketch artist, you know."
Nia laughed, but her laughter quickly turned to a suppressed sob.
Pressing his lips together grimly, Jarod pulled her close, gently rubbing her shoulder. "Hey, hey, it's going to be okay. We'll find Luke, I promise."
Nia nodded against his shoulder, but didn't respond. She'd spent the last five years raising her baby alone; losing him would be like losing her own life.
The woman stepped in the room, hesitating at the door.
"Um… excuse me," she said awkwardly, walking towards them. "Here… are the… crayons," she murmured, holding a pad of construction paper and a box of crayons towards the man.
Jarod smiled and reached out for them. "Thank you. Now, if you could tell us about the man who claimed to be me."
The woman nodded, sitting on the couch opposite them.
"He was… clean-shaven," the woman replied hesitantly, "Dark brown hair, blue eyes. He had a friendly face, and he seemed happy to see Luke. He… he was really convincing." She shook her head and continued, "He was tall; a little taller than you, I think… Mr. Forest."
As she was speaking, Jarod was drawing. She paused, watching him. Jarod added a few more strokes to his paper and then held it out, turning it around.
"Is this the man?" Jarod asked.
The woman's wide eyes answered his question before she did. "Yes! That's him!"
Nia looked at Jarod in surprise, "Do you know this man?"
Jarod's expression was grim. "Mr. Lyle," he supplied, trying to suppress the sudden wave of hatred he felt. The man had killed his brother, he'd tried to kill him on numerous occasions, and he'd tortured him in a cell in the Centre's basement. He was the last person Jarod wanted to be influencing his son. "He's from the Centre, alright. I thought he was dead—but, then, I also thought the Centre was dead." Hoped was more like it. He'd hoped Lyle was dead when he didn't hear anything from him for so long—he'd hoped the loss of the scrolls and their power base would send the Centre to ruin. Apparently, neither had happened.
Nia's face crumpled. "Then they do have him."
"I'm afraid so," Jarod confirmed somberly.
"Do you know where they could be keeping him?" Nia asked desperately, looking up at the man.
"… It's possible that he's at the Delaware site, but since I know how to get in and out of that easily, he's probably being held somewhere else," Jarod supplied, "There are a few smaller laboratories around that I know of but have never been to in person, but what we're looking for might be someplace else entirely… This could take some time, Nia," he added apologetically.
"Excuse me… I don't mean to pry, but what is the center?" the daycare attendant asked uncertainly.
Jarod looked at her, meeting her eyes grimly. "It is a very bad place."
