Chapter 11: Blue Cove, Delaware; present time
Parker surveyed the attic with a measure of satisfaction. It had taken her almost two whole Saturdays, but the room was nearly under control. Most of the dust was gone, thanks to industrial strength cleaner and no small amount of elbow grease. That had been the first task after she had decided she was actually going to do this. If she was going to spend any amount of time in here, the dust had to go.
In the middle of the room were three neatly separated piles of things: one to keep, one for the Goodwill, and one of trash. It had been hard for her to decide what to keep. Some things were obvious: her mother's chair and school papers and a good deal of her own baby clothes. After some decision, most of her own school papers went in the trash pile, except for report cards and test scores. Of course she kept the photo albums, but it had been harder to sort through the rest of the books. Eventually she decided to save those for a later date when she could take the time to look through each of them individually and keep the ones she wanted.
A good chunk of the furniture would be donated to the Goodwill, as well as boxes of linens that she had had laundered. Most of it was old and outdated, but still serviceable. There were even a few old-fashioned articles of clothing that might make good Halloween costumes.
Once the useable items had been boxed up and placed in her car, all that remained were a few broken pieces of furniture and lamps. Grabbing a large lawn and leaf bag, Parker loaded up what would fit and hauled it down the stairs, making a few more trips to carry the heavier items. She placed it all in the garage by the trash can, ready to be taken out next weekend.
When she stepped back into the attic, she took a quick look around to make sure she had gotten everything. Nothing; the attic was clean. "Maybe now Syd will get off my back," she muttered without any true animosity. The truth was, she appreciated that the older man cared enough to pester her. It was irritating as hell, but it showed genuine concern. The only thing her father-either of them-had ever bothered her about was when she was going to catch Jarod. Honestly, she wasn't sure she even wanted to catch him anymore, but there was no way she was going to tell anyone else that. She cared more about her life than that.
Before leaving, she decided to take one last look out the window. In the last few weeks she had grown to love the view she could see from up here, it reminded her of simpler times. She was almost there when she felt a floorboard shift beneath her weight. "What the hell?" she mumbled, kneeling down to see what was going on. Running her fingers along the crack between the boards, she felt one loosen slightly. Tugging on it, she suddenly found herself sitting on the floor, staring into a small cubby hole. Inside it lay a smallish, old, carved wooden box. Pulling it out of its hiding place, she worked the latches until she could get it to open.
Inside were two journals. One had a penciled title of A History of the Parkers on The Isle of Carthis and the other was labeled simply as "The Personal Journal of Ezra Parker." Parker stared at the latter for a moment. Ezra was her great grandfather's name-the man who had murdered his own family and then founded the Centre.
After a moment of hesitation she lifted the journal out of the box and started down the stairs. She had every intention of reading it, but something told her the words would sit better if consumed with copious amounts of scotch.
On the way home however her confidence diminished. Did she really want to read it? This was the journal of the evil patriarch of her family, the one who had started the whole sordid history. When she walked in the door, she set the book down on the sofa table and headed upstairs for a shower. "I'm all dusty," she told herself. "I need to clean up before I can do anything else."
An hour later, clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, she went into the kitchen for a late lunch. "I haven't eaten since 8:00 this morning, I would never be able to concentrate on the book anyway," she insisted when her mind told her she was making up excuses.
But around 4:00 when she was done eating, all her stalling tactics were used up. Wandering back into the family room, she slowly lit a fire against the growing chill of the autumn evening. When she had a strong blaze going, she rose to her feet and looked at the book warily. "I guess it is time," she said reluctantly as she pulled out a glass and a bottle of scotch. Pouring herself a glass and setting the bottle on the table in front of her, she began to read.
"September 5, 1900
Today my father took me aside, telling me he had a family secret to pass on. He said that his father had told him in his 18th year, and he in turn was telling me. "Son," he said, his voice more solemn than I had ever heard, "What I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone outside of the family. It is a secret, a secret as old as our history on Carthis itself. Do you understand?" Of course I told him, how difficult could it be to understand the concept of a secret?
"The Parkers play a very unique role in the Vespasian legacy," he said. Here I broke in; after all, how unique was it to be the crypt keepers to a monastery? But he said that was not what he was talking about at all. "No Ezra, we have a destiny that goes far beyond our vocation. It is a prophecy that was made 600 years ago, one that has been passed down through every generation."
I scoffed slightly at this, after all how could a 600 year old prophecy have anything to do with my life today? But he continued, ignoring the skeptical look on my face. "We are destined for great power son, an ability to change and control humanity itself."
At the mention of power I grew more interested. Here was something I could understand, something I thirsted for. I asked him what he meant, how we would get this power, but he couldn't say anything more. "All I know is what I've told you. The rest of the answers can be found in the scrolls," he told me. But then he went on to say that the scrolls themselves had been hidden by Vespas himself, and that no Parker had managed to find them.
"Then how are we supposed to fulfill this destiny?" I asked. He told me that Vespas had only said that the one who found the scrolls would gain absolution from his sins.
I decided then and there that I would be the one to find the scrolls. I would decipher the message. I would fulfill the destiny."
Parker shuddered at the power-hungry voice that echoed across the pages. It was hard to believe this man was related to her, even harder to believe that eventually he succeeded in his goal. Taking a sip of the scotch, she skipped over a few pages and continued.
"May 17, 1908
My father's funeral was today. As I sat there with my wife and our young family, my mind drifted back to the day he had told me about the scrolls. In the years since, I had found little opportunity to search for them, always kept busy with my land and helping my father in his increasingly arduous task of crypt keeper.
But now I'm truly my own man, I can make the time to do the exploring I want to do. I've been repeating Vespas' riddle over and over, the clue seemingly obvious and yet just out of reach. I want to figure it out, I will be the one to find the scrolls. Five years hasn't diminished my resolve, if anything it has strengthened it.
I will succeed within the year, I vow it on my father's grave."
Parker took a large swallow of the smooth, amber drink, shaking her head at the audacity of the man. "His father's grave was still warm, and all he could think about was power," she muttered. An image of her own father, standing outside the house where his wife had died, too concerned with business to even ask if he had a son or daughter crossed her mind and she downed the glass, pouring herself another as she turned to the next entry.
"August 4, 1908
This week while going through the archives once more, I found an old letter box that had belonged to the monks who built the monastery. Within in lay the final piece to the puzzle-a riddle from Vespas himself leaving clues as to the location of the scrolls.
From a line of goodness, the evil shall rise To that which hallowed vellum prophesies From their words will his power flow And right from confession his strength shall grow
This is it, I know it. I need only to decipher the meaning behind this poem and I will finally have in my possession all that I need to change my life for the better."
Parker stared at the four lines for a moment, her scotch momentarily forgotten as she tried to unravel the secrets they held. When nothing came to her, she shrugged, turning the page to the next entry. Her great- grandfather had apparently figured it out, that was all that mattered at the moment.
"October 20, 1908
I've finally deciphered the riddle. Once I did, I couldn't believe I hadn't realized it is meaning before, it is so clear now. Clearly, the scrolls must be hidden near a confessional. Now I need only discover which of the island churches and chapels it is referring to, and then actually find the scrolls themselves. I'm so close I can almost taste the victory."
"I'm sure you could," Parker muttered. "Too bad you didn't have your very own Wonderboy around to foul you up every time you got that close, our family history might have turned out much different." The next entry was equally ebullient.
"October 29, 1908
At last! This morning, I laid eyes on the scrolls, the first time they had seen the open air in almost 600 years. Once I thought about the time line properly, it was obvious there was only one church they could be hidden in. Only the Chapel of Souls had been here long enough to be the hiding place. In fact, as I remember the story, Vespas himself designed the building, giving him ample opportunity to secure a hiding place.
I stood in front of the old confessional for what seemed like hours, my eyes going over every inch of it, searching for a hiding place. When I realized all my staring was not getting my any closer to finding the scrolls, I then re-examined the riddle: "And right from confession." Perhaps it was a riddle hidden within the riddle, and the scrolls were secreted somewhere to the right of the confessional. Praying that my guess was correct, I began to secretly explore the area to the right of the small booth. It took me a few days, but I finally discovered a cleverly hidden trap door in the floor, leading to a shallow room.
As I lowered myself into the chamber, a sense of history, of destiny flooded through me. The last person to be in this place was Vespas himself, and he had left something here for me. I knew then that I was the one who was meant to find the scrolls from the very moment the prophecy had been written.
The room itself was only about six feet square, small enough that he and his eight fellow warrior monks would have been able to do the work in one night without anyone else being the wiser. And there in the center of the room lay a shallow wooden box. I lifted the lid with trembling hands and for the first time beheld the scrolls with my own eyes.
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to read every word they said, to finally understand what they meant for me. However, the lighting was poor and it was growing late. I didn't want my wife wondering what I was doing until I was prepared to explain it to her. Gathering the box up in my arms, I hurried home and hid it in the barn.
Once dinner was done and the children were all in bed, I snuck into the barn and began to read. The tale that was written there was so surreal I would never have believed it if I didn't know some of it had already come true. Vespas had been a Templar, he had brought my ancestor with him to Carthis. The story had been passed down, and I had found the scrolls. and now I want nothing more than to make them come true.
I don't believe there is anything wrong with wanting power however, no matter what Sir Addecius said. He was a Knight, one who was revered by men and feared by kings. He had all the power he needed, he didn't know what it was like to be a lowly crypt-keeper.
I will admit that the warning about the price that the one who fulfills the prophecies must pay caused a moment of unease, but I shrugged it off quickly enough. How terrible could it really be? In the 14th century, everything in life was viewed through the eyes of mysticism, I'm sure that the payment he foresaw was not nearly as great as he imagined. And even if it was, I'm willing to give anything to free myself from the shackles of poverty.
A distant land. I've wanted to leave Carthis for many years, I don't belong here. Everything I hear about America makes me long for it, for a new world where I can start my new life, my new foundation. the Centre. Tomorrow I will discuss this with my wife, and we can leave as soon as possible."
Parker snorted in derision. "Betcha that didn't go quite the way you planned it," she said as she threw back the glass of scotch. "Then again, things in the Parker family seldom do," she added as she flipped the page, knowing from her time on Carthis what would be written in the next entry.
"November 1,1908
As I write this, I'm sitting on the deck of a boat, bound for America. I'm alone, my family is all dead. I killed them by my own hand. it was the only way to fulfill the prophecy.
When I told my wife about the scrolls, she was unexpectedly resistant to the idea of leaving her home. What's more, she had this odd idea that founding such an organization would be wrong, evil even. "Things like that go against the very nature of God Ezra," she told me plainly, "and I won't be a part in it."
I tried to convince her, but t'was to no avail. I left her in anger, thinking that later, when she calmed down, she would be more reasonable. A few hours later, I went to the barn to re-read the scrolls, but they were nowhere to be found. Believing my wife had hidden them from me in a misguided attempt to keep us here, I flew into a rage. Tearing back into the house, I found her and started screaming at her, telling her to give them back. When that didn't get me what I wanted, I beat her again and again, until she was beaten and bloody and barely conscious.
The irony is, it wasn't even my wife who betrayed me, it was my daughter; my little Angel. I caught her skulking about and tried to get her to tell me what she'd done with them, but the impertinent lass wouldn't say a word, except to confirm that it had been her who'd stolen them.
I felt a fleeting sensation of remorse for my unfair treatment of my wife, but it was surpassed by my need to retrieve the scrolls. "Angel," I said sweetly, "what did you do with Papa's scrolls?" Instead of answering, she just stared back at me with eyes that knew everything, eyes that seemed to look inside me and find me lacking.
Finally, she said, "Papa does not need the scrolls, he has us. I gave them a new home, and only told my friend where it is."
Despite all my attempts to cajole it out of her, she wouldn't say anything more. My temper grew even greater than it had been before, and I ran out of the house, barring the door from the outside. Grabbing a torch, I touched it to the roof and watched the house burn. As I walked away, the screams of my family echoed in my ears, but I had only one goal-finding the scrolls.
She said she had told her friend. The only friend she had was the old priest, Father Theo. But when I tried to get him to give me the location, he too refused. In my anger I killed him as well, and then stole a boat, leaving the island for good.
Despite everyone's best attempts to thwart me, I still will build the Centre. I have enough of the scrolls hidden in my memory to be able to do that, even without their guidance. The Centre shall rise."
The blasé way in which he spoke about the evils he had committed made Parker want to throw up every drop of liquor she had consumed over the past two hours. Part of her wanted to throw the book in the fire, to pretend it had never happened, but some morbid curiosity drove her to turn to the last entry, dated just shortly after the Centre had been established.
"July 10, 1909
I've been in America for nearly a year, and finally the first step is complete. The Centre is now a reality, I have completed my destiny, the path that was begun by the knights who came to Carthis centuries ago. To honor them, and to keep a tangible connection to my beginnings, the design of the Centre echoes in many ways that of the monastery. The Tower here will be a constant presence in my life just as the crypt was there.
Though I no longer have the scrolls, there is still one thing written in them that disturbs me. The old knight wrote of a boy, a man named Jarod who would be born with mysterious gifts, gifts that would enable him to destroy what I have fought so hard to build. Not only that, but he said that this boy would work with one of my own progeny, a Parker, to fulfill his destiny. This must not happen. At all costs, they must be stopped.
So this is my message for my newborn son, for him to pass on to his son. Keep watch. Pay close attention to those around you. Find this Jarod, and don't let him fulfill the last part of the prophecy. Do whatever it takes to keep him from using his talents against us, but don't let him win.
At the same time, watch your own children. Pay attention to one whose loyalties might be divided between the Centre and Jarod. Together, they must fail. The Centre will never be brought to it is knees, my family will always have the security that power alone can bring it."
Parker slowly laid the book down, the images the last two entries left making her dry heave. Grabbing the half empty bottle that still sat on the coffee table, she quickly swallowed the rest of it in an attempt to erase what she had learned, but it didn't work.
"Well, I learned at least one good thing," she muttered as she leaned back into the couch cushions. "The Centre actually is afraid of Jarod. and he can get rid of them."
Shaking her head, she threw the book down on the coffee table in front of her. In the process, a piece of paper slid out from between the last page and the back cover. "What is this?" she wondered. "Something else that I will wish I hadn't read?" But when she unfolded the paper, her mouth went dry. It was a letter from her mother, addressed to her. dated just two weeks before her supposed suicide.
"My dear daughter," it began,
"If you're reading this letter, it means that Margaret and I failed in our attempt to locate the scrolls and free Jarod. If we were to succeed, I was planning to burn the journal and the letter so that you would never need to know the whole story. I'm so sorry that you had to find out your family history this way. I myself was shocked and appalled when I discovered the journal under the floorboards eight years ago. It answered so many of my questions, but raised just as many new ones.
For two years I had been trying to help my friend Margaret learn why the Centre had taken her son. Your father would only tell me that his ability needed to be used for the world, but that didn't answer why it was necessary to keep him locked up like an animal instead of being allowed to run and play like a little boy should. There was something more there my inner sense kept telling me.
When I read this journal, the sordid story of the Centre's beginnings, that something more became clear. He and Raines were not holding Jarod so they could train him, or so they could keep him safe from those who might exploit him. They were keeping him close so he wouldn't be able to take away the power they had been raised to think was their God-given right as Parkers.
It occurs to me as I write this that you might not yet know about your relationship to Dr. Raines. Raines is your father's brother my love. he's your uncle. Even now at the age of ten your dislike for him is clear so I can only imagine how you must feel learning that, or felt when you did learn it if you knew already. But that is the least of your family's sins, as discovered when you read this volume.
Margaret and I have spent the last eight years secretly trying to learn as much about the scrolls as possible. If we can find them, we will have the leverage we need to free Jarod. and according to Ezra, once he's free the end of the Centre will begin.
You need to understand the role you're meant to play in this as well sweetheart. In that last entry, your great-grandfather made it clear that a Parker companion of Jarod's will have a destiny intertwined with his. As I've watched the two of you become friends, I've realized that you are the one he's speaking of. Be careful, your father and uncle will be watching you closely. Hide your loyalties from them, give them no opportunity to question you. Your life may depend on it.
Since Margaret and I have failed in our goal, it is us to you and Jarod. You are both trapped by the lies and deceit of the Centre, you will only be free if you work together.
Good luck baby."
She was still reeling with shock when the phone rang. "What do you want Jarod?" she said tiredly after picking it up.
"How did you know it was me?" he asked, surprised.
"Easy," she said dryly. "Whenever I find out something horrible about my family, you're always the first person to call. So what do you want?"
"What did you find?" he countered.
"Oh, same old same old, we're evil, horrible people who should be wiped from the face of the earth."
"Parker, you're not like your family, you know that," he reminded her.
She leaned back against the couch with a sigh and said, "Jarod, I doubt you called just to reassure me of my innate goodness, so what do you want?"
"Well, actually I was going to ask if you had learned anything new. My trail seems to be leading back to Carthis and somehow I doubt I will find anything new there."
She paused for a moment, considering. She had just been wondering how she could get Jarod here. "It is time," she finally said.
"Time for what?" he asked, confused.
"It is time for the game to end," she told him enigmatically.
He immediately caught her meaning but was afraid to believe it was finally happening. "Are you sure?"
"Yes Jarod, this is it."
"Ok," he said quietly and hung up.
Parker's arm flopped off the side of the couch, the phone falling from her limp fingers to land on the floor with a soft thud. The shock of her family's sordid history was starting to sink in, and she could do little more than stare at the flames.
A knock at the back door roused her from her blank thoughts. Rising to see who it was, she somehow was not surprised when she saw Jarod looking back at her through the window. "You called me from my backyard?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.
"It was not the first time," he remarked wryly as he stepped into her kitchen. "So are you sure you're ready to do this?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "It is time this stopped for good."
"What changed your mind?" he asked curiously.
"You did. in a way. You were right, when you said they don't want you for your pretending abilities. Well, half right anyway. They don't want you so they can use them, they want you so you cannot."
"Was that supposed to make sense?"
"Think about it Jarod!! I know you want to get rid of the Centre. You always fight for justice, what is the weapon you use? How do you figure out what the criminals have done and why they did it?"
"No." he said, slowly realizing what she was saying. "You cannot be serious!! Do you know what that would be like?"
"Yes. Yes Jarod, I know. I know because I've had to live with the evil in my life for so long that sometimes I forget where it stops and I begin. But it is the only way. You were born with this ability so you could use it against them."
"That is what Addecius said," Jarod whispered, afraid to believe it.
"What?"
"The knight who wrote the scrolls left me a letter, saying it was my destiny to be the only one with the power to stop them. I just wish I didn't have to. How should I do it?" he asked resignedly.
"There is only one person who has the knowledge necessary to get rid of the Centre," she told him quietly.
"You want me to sim Raines??" he asked incredulously. "I've spent a good chunk of my life trying to keep him out of my mind, and now you want me to let him in willingly?"
"No, I want you to get into his head, not the other way around. Jarod. Do you think you will ever be able to find your family and live with them if the Centre is still around? They will never let it happen. You. we have to stop them. I'll help once we have the plan, but you're the only one who can make the plan."
Parker surveyed the attic with a measure of satisfaction. It had taken her almost two whole Saturdays, but the room was nearly under control. Most of the dust was gone, thanks to industrial strength cleaner and no small amount of elbow grease. That had been the first task after she had decided she was actually going to do this. If she was going to spend any amount of time in here, the dust had to go.
In the middle of the room were three neatly separated piles of things: one to keep, one for the Goodwill, and one of trash. It had been hard for her to decide what to keep. Some things were obvious: her mother's chair and school papers and a good deal of her own baby clothes. After some decision, most of her own school papers went in the trash pile, except for report cards and test scores. Of course she kept the photo albums, but it had been harder to sort through the rest of the books. Eventually she decided to save those for a later date when she could take the time to look through each of them individually and keep the ones she wanted.
A good chunk of the furniture would be donated to the Goodwill, as well as boxes of linens that she had had laundered. Most of it was old and outdated, but still serviceable. There were even a few old-fashioned articles of clothing that might make good Halloween costumes.
Once the useable items had been boxed up and placed in her car, all that remained were a few broken pieces of furniture and lamps. Grabbing a large lawn and leaf bag, Parker loaded up what would fit and hauled it down the stairs, making a few more trips to carry the heavier items. She placed it all in the garage by the trash can, ready to be taken out next weekend.
When she stepped back into the attic, she took a quick look around to make sure she had gotten everything. Nothing; the attic was clean. "Maybe now Syd will get off my back," she muttered without any true animosity. The truth was, she appreciated that the older man cared enough to pester her. It was irritating as hell, but it showed genuine concern. The only thing her father-either of them-had ever bothered her about was when she was going to catch Jarod. Honestly, she wasn't sure she even wanted to catch him anymore, but there was no way she was going to tell anyone else that. She cared more about her life than that.
Before leaving, she decided to take one last look out the window. In the last few weeks she had grown to love the view she could see from up here, it reminded her of simpler times. She was almost there when she felt a floorboard shift beneath her weight. "What the hell?" she mumbled, kneeling down to see what was going on. Running her fingers along the crack between the boards, she felt one loosen slightly. Tugging on it, she suddenly found herself sitting on the floor, staring into a small cubby hole. Inside it lay a smallish, old, carved wooden box. Pulling it out of its hiding place, she worked the latches until she could get it to open.
Inside were two journals. One had a penciled title of A History of the Parkers on The Isle of Carthis and the other was labeled simply as "The Personal Journal of Ezra Parker." Parker stared at the latter for a moment. Ezra was her great grandfather's name-the man who had murdered his own family and then founded the Centre.
After a moment of hesitation she lifted the journal out of the box and started down the stairs. She had every intention of reading it, but something told her the words would sit better if consumed with copious amounts of scotch.
On the way home however her confidence diminished. Did she really want to read it? This was the journal of the evil patriarch of her family, the one who had started the whole sordid history. When she walked in the door, she set the book down on the sofa table and headed upstairs for a shower. "I'm all dusty," she told herself. "I need to clean up before I can do anything else."
An hour later, clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, she went into the kitchen for a late lunch. "I haven't eaten since 8:00 this morning, I would never be able to concentrate on the book anyway," she insisted when her mind told her she was making up excuses.
But around 4:00 when she was done eating, all her stalling tactics were used up. Wandering back into the family room, she slowly lit a fire against the growing chill of the autumn evening. When she had a strong blaze going, she rose to her feet and looked at the book warily. "I guess it is time," she said reluctantly as she pulled out a glass and a bottle of scotch. Pouring herself a glass and setting the bottle on the table in front of her, she began to read.
"September 5, 1900
Today my father took me aside, telling me he had a family secret to pass on. He said that his father had told him in his 18th year, and he in turn was telling me. "Son," he said, his voice more solemn than I had ever heard, "What I'm about to tell you can never be repeated to anyone outside of the family. It is a secret, a secret as old as our history on Carthis itself. Do you understand?" Of course I told him, how difficult could it be to understand the concept of a secret?
"The Parkers play a very unique role in the Vespasian legacy," he said. Here I broke in; after all, how unique was it to be the crypt keepers to a monastery? But he said that was not what he was talking about at all. "No Ezra, we have a destiny that goes far beyond our vocation. It is a prophecy that was made 600 years ago, one that has been passed down through every generation."
I scoffed slightly at this, after all how could a 600 year old prophecy have anything to do with my life today? But he continued, ignoring the skeptical look on my face. "We are destined for great power son, an ability to change and control humanity itself."
At the mention of power I grew more interested. Here was something I could understand, something I thirsted for. I asked him what he meant, how we would get this power, but he couldn't say anything more. "All I know is what I've told you. The rest of the answers can be found in the scrolls," he told me. But then he went on to say that the scrolls themselves had been hidden by Vespas himself, and that no Parker had managed to find them.
"Then how are we supposed to fulfill this destiny?" I asked. He told me that Vespas had only said that the one who found the scrolls would gain absolution from his sins.
I decided then and there that I would be the one to find the scrolls. I would decipher the message. I would fulfill the destiny."
Parker shuddered at the power-hungry voice that echoed across the pages. It was hard to believe this man was related to her, even harder to believe that eventually he succeeded in his goal. Taking a sip of the scotch, she skipped over a few pages and continued.
"May 17, 1908
My father's funeral was today. As I sat there with my wife and our young family, my mind drifted back to the day he had told me about the scrolls. In the years since, I had found little opportunity to search for them, always kept busy with my land and helping my father in his increasingly arduous task of crypt keeper.
But now I'm truly my own man, I can make the time to do the exploring I want to do. I've been repeating Vespas' riddle over and over, the clue seemingly obvious and yet just out of reach. I want to figure it out, I will be the one to find the scrolls. Five years hasn't diminished my resolve, if anything it has strengthened it.
I will succeed within the year, I vow it on my father's grave."
Parker took a large swallow of the smooth, amber drink, shaking her head at the audacity of the man. "His father's grave was still warm, and all he could think about was power," she muttered. An image of her own father, standing outside the house where his wife had died, too concerned with business to even ask if he had a son or daughter crossed her mind and she downed the glass, pouring herself another as she turned to the next entry.
"August 4, 1908
This week while going through the archives once more, I found an old letter box that had belonged to the monks who built the monastery. Within in lay the final piece to the puzzle-a riddle from Vespas himself leaving clues as to the location of the scrolls.
From a line of goodness, the evil shall rise To that which hallowed vellum prophesies From their words will his power flow And right from confession his strength shall grow
This is it, I know it. I need only to decipher the meaning behind this poem and I will finally have in my possession all that I need to change my life for the better."
Parker stared at the four lines for a moment, her scotch momentarily forgotten as she tried to unravel the secrets they held. When nothing came to her, she shrugged, turning the page to the next entry. Her great- grandfather had apparently figured it out, that was all that mattered at the moment.
"October 20, 1908
I've finally deciphered the riddle. Once I did, I couldn't believe I hadn't realized it is meaning before, it is so clear now. Clearly, the scrolls must be hidden near a confessional. Now I need only discover which of the island churches and chapels it is referring to, and then actually find the scrolls themselves. I'm so close I can almost taste the victory."
"I'm sure you could," Parker muttered. "Too bad you didn't have your very own Wonderboy around to foul you up every time you got that close, our family history might have turned out much different." The next entry was equally ebullient.
"October 29, 1908
At last! This morning, I laid eyes on the scrolls, the first time they had seen the open air in almost 600 years. Once I thought about the time line properly, it was obvious there was only one church they could be hidden in. Only the Chapel of Souls had been here long enough to be the hiding place. In fact, as I remember the story, Vespas himself designed the building, giving him ample opportunity to secure a hiding place.
I stood in front of the old confessional for what seemed like hours, my eyes going over every inch of it, searching for a hiding place. When I realized all my staring was not getting my any closer to finding the scrolls, I then re-examined the riddle: "And right from confession." Perhaps it was a riddle hidden within the riddle, and the scrolls were secreted somewhere to the right of the confessional. Praying that my guess was correct, I began to secretly explore the area to the right of the small booth. It took me a few days, but I finally discovered a cleverly hidden trap door in the floor, leading to a shallow room.
As I lowered myself into the chamber, a sense of history, of destiny flooded through me. The last person to be in this place was Vespas himself, and he had left something here for me. I knew then that I was the one who was meant to find the scrolls from the very moment the prophecy had been written.
The room itself was only about six feet square, small enough that he and his eight fellow warrior monks would have been able to do the work in one night without anyone else being the wiser. And there in the center of the room lay a shallow wooden box. I lifted the lid with trembling hands and for the first time beheld the scrolls with my own eyes.
At that moment, I wanted nothing more than to read every word they said, to finally understand what they meant for me. However, the lighting was poor and it was growing late. I didn't want my wife wondering what I was doing until I was prepared to explain it to her. Gathering the box up in my arms, I hurried home and hid it in the barn.
Once dinner was done and the children were all in bed, I snuck into the barn and began to read. The tale that was written there was so surreal I would never have believed it if I didn't know some of it had already come true. Vespas had been a Templar, he had brought my ancestor with him to Carthis. The story had been passed down, and I had found the scrolls. and now I want nothing more than to make them come true.
I don't believe there is anything wrong with wanting power however, no matter what Sir Addecius said. He was a Knight, one who was revered by men and feared by kings. He had all the power he needed, he didn't know what it was like to be a lowly crypt-keeper.
I will admit that the warning about the price that the one who fulfills the prophecies must pay caused a moment of unease, but I shrugged it off quickly enough. How terrible could it really be? In the 14th century, everything in life was viewed through the eyes of mysticism, I'm sure that the payment he foresaw was not nearly as great as he imagined. And even if it was, I'm willing to give anything to free myself from the shackles of poverty.
A distant land. I've wanted to leave Carthis for many years, I don't belong here. Everything I hear about America makes me long for it, for a new world where I can start my new life, my new foundation. the Centre. Tomorrow I will discuss this with my wife, and we can leave as soon as possible."
Parker snorted in derision. "Betcha that didn't go quite the way you planned it," she said as she threw back the glass of scotch. "Then again, things in the Parker family seldom do," she added as she flipped the page, knowing from her time on Carthis what would be written in the next entry.
"November 1,1908
As I write this, I'm sitting on the deck of a boat, bound for America. I'm alone, my family is all dead. I killed them by my own hand. it was the only way to fulfill the prophecy.
When I told my wife about the scrolls, she was unexpectedly resistant to the idea of leaving her home. What's more, she had this odd idea that founding such an organization would be wrong, evil even. "Things like that go against the very nature of God Ezra," she told me plainly, "and I won't be a part in it."
I tried to convince her, but t'was to no avail. I left her in anger, thinking that later, when she calmed down, she would be more reasonable. A few hours later, I went to the barn to re-read the scrolls, but they were nowhere to be found. Believing my wife had hidden them from me in a misguided attempt to keep us here, I flew into a rage. Tearing back into the house, I found her and started screaming at her, telling her to give them back. When that didn't get me what I wanted, I beat her again and again, until she was beaten and bloody and barely conscious.
The irony is, it wasn't even my wife who betrayed me, it was my daughter; my little Angel. I caught her skulking about and tried to get her to tell me what she'd done with them, but the impertinent lass wouldn't say a word, except to confirm that it had been her who'd stolen them.
I felt a fleeting sensation of remorse for my unfair treatment of my wife, but it was surpassed by my need to retrieve the scrolls. "Angel," I said sweetly, "what did you do with Papa's scrolls?" Instead of answering, she just stared back at me with eyes that knew everything, eyes that seemed to look inside me and find me lacking.
Finally, she said, "Papa does not need the scrolls, he has us. I gave them a new home, and only told my friend where it is."
Despite all my attempts to cajole it out of her, she wouldn't say anything more. My temper grew even greater than it had been before, and I ran out of the house, barring the door from the outside. Grabbing a torch, I touched it to the roof and watched the house burn. As I walked away, the screams of my family echoed in my ears, but I had only one goal-finding the scrolls.
She said she had told her friend. The only friend she had was the old priest, Father Theo. But when I tried to get him to give me the location, he too refused. In my anger I killed him as well, and then stole a boat, leaving the island for good.
Despite everyone's best attempts to thwart me, I still will build the Centre. I have enough of the scrolls hidden in my memory to be able to do that, even without their guidance. The Centre shall rise."
The blasé way in which he spoke about the evils he had committed made Parker want to throw up every drop of liquor she had consumed over the past two hours. Part of her wanted to throw the book in the fire, to pretend it had never happened, but some morbid curiosity drove her to turn to the last entry, dated just shortly after the Centre had been established.
"July 10, 1909
I've been in America for nearly a year, and finally the first step is complete. The Centre is now a reality, I have completed my destiny, the path that was begun by the knights who came to Carthis centuries ago. To honor them, and to keep a tangible connection to my beginnings, the design of the Centre echoes in many ways that of the monastery. The Tower here will be a constant presence in my life just as the crypt was there.
Though I no longer have the scrolls, there is still one thing written in them that disturbs me. The old knight wrote of a boy, a man named Jarod who would be born with mysterious gifts, gifts that would enable him to destroy what I have fought so hard to build. Not only that, but he said that this boy would work with one of my own progeny, a Parker, to fulfill his destiny. This must not happen. At all costs, they must be stopped.
So this is my message for my newborn son, for him to pass on to his son. Keep watch. Pay close attention to those around you. Find this Jarod, and don't let him fulfill the last part of the prophecy. Do whatever it takes to keep him from using his talents against us, but don't let him win.
At the same time, watch your own children. Pay attention to one whose loyalties might be divided between the Centre and Jarod. Together, they must fail. The Centre will never be brought to it is knees, my family will always have the security that power alone can bring it."
Parker slowly laid the book down, the images the last two entries left making her dry heave. Grabbing the half empty bottle that still sat on the coffee table, she quickly swallowed the rest of it in an attempt to erase what she had learned, but it didn't work.
"Well, I learned at least one good thing," she muttered as she leaned back into the couch cushions. "The Centre actually is afraid of Jarod. and he can get rid of them."
Shaking her head, she threw the book down on the coffee table in front of her. In the process, a piece of paper slid out from between the last page and the back cover. "What is this?" she wondered. "Something else that I will wish I hadn't read?" But when she unfolded the paper, her mouth went dry. It was a letter from her mother, addressed to her. dated just two weeks before her supposed suicide.
"My dear daughter," it began,
"If you're reading this letter, it means that Margaret and I failed in our attempt to locate the scrolls and free Jarod. If we were to succeed, I was planning to burn the journal and the letter so that you would never need to know the whole story. I'm so sorry that you had to find out your family history this way. I myself was shocked and appalled when I discovered the journal under the floorboards eight years ago. It answered so many of my questions, but raised just as many new ones.
For two years I had been trying to help my friend Margaret learn why the Centre had taken her son. Your father would only tell me that his ability needed to be used for the world, but that didn't answer why it was necessary to keep him locked up like an animal instead of being allowed to run and play like a little boy should. There was something more there my inner sense kept telling me.
When I read this journal, the sordid story of the Centre's beginnings, that something more became clear. He and Raines were not holding Jarod so they could train him, or so they could keep him safe from those who might exploit him. They were keeping him close so he wouldn't be able to take away the power they had been raised to think was their God-given right as Parkers.
It occurs to me as I write this that you might not yet know about your relationship to Dr. Raines. Raines is your father's brother my love. he's your uncle. Even now at the age of ten your dislike for him is clear so I can only imagine how you must feel learning that, or felt when you did learn it if you knew already. But that is the least of your family's sins, as discovered when you read this volume.
Margaret and I have spent the last eight years secretly trying to learn as much about the scrolls as possible. If we can find them, we will have the leverage we need to free Jarod. and according to Ezra, once he's free the end of the Centre will begin.
You need to understand the role you're meant to play in this as well sweetheart. In that last entry, your great-grandfather made it clear that a Parker companion of Jarod's will have a destiny intertwined with his. As I've watched the two of you become friends, I've realized that you are the one he's speaking of. Be careful, your father and uncle will be watching you closely. Hide your loyalties from them, give them no opportunity to question you. Your life may depend on it.
Since Margaret and I have failed in our goal, it is us to you and Jarod. You are both trapped by the lies and deceit of the Centre, you will only be free if you work together.
Good luck baby."
She was still reeling with shock when the phone rang. "What do you want Jarod?" she said tiredly after picking it up.
"How did you know it was me?" he asked, surprised.
"Easy," she said dryly. "Whenever I find out something horrible about my family, you're always the first person to call. So what do you want?"
"What did you find?" he countered.
"Oh, same old same old, we're evil, horrible people who should be wiped from the face of the earth."
"Parker, you're not like your family, you know that," he reminded her.
She leaned back against the couch with a sigh and said, "Jarod, I doubt you called just to reassure me of my innate goodness, so what do you want?"
"Well, actually I was going to ask if you had learned anything new. My trail seems to be leading back to Carthis and somehow I doubt I will find anything new there."
She paused for a moment, considering. She had just been wondering how she could get Jarod here. "It is time," she finally said.
"Time for what?" he asked, confused.
"It is time for the game to end," she told him enigmatically.
He immediately caught her meaning but was afraid to believe it was finally happening. "Are you sure?"
"Yes Jarod, this is it."
"Ok," he said quietly and hung up.
Parker's arm flopped off the side of the couch, the phone falling from her limp fingers to land on the floor with a soft thud. The shock of her family's sordid history was starting to sink in, and she could do little more than stare at the flames.
A knock at the back door roused her from her blank thoughts. Rising to see who it was, she somehow was not surprised when she saw Jarod looking back at her through the window. "You called me from my backyard?" she asked, an eyebrow raised.
"It was not the first time," he remarked wryly as he stepped into her kitchen. "So are you sure you're ready to do this?"
"Yes," she said firmly. "It is time this stopped for good."
"What changed your mind?" he asked curiously.
"You did. in a way. You were right, when you said they don't want you for your pretending abilities. Well, half right anyway. They don't want you so they can use them, they want you so you cannot."
"Was that supposed to make sense?"
"Think about it Jarod!! I know you want to get rid of the Centre. You always fight for justice, what is the weapon you use? How do you figure out what the criminals have done and why they did it?"
"No." he said, slowly realizing what she was saying. "You cannot be serious!! Do you know what that would be like?"
"Yes. Yes Jarod, I know. I know because I've had to live with the evil in my life for so long that sometimes I forget where it stops and I begin. But it is the only way. You were born with this ability so you could use it against them."
"That is what Addecius said," Jarod whispered, afraid to believe it.
"What?"
"The knight who wrote the scrolls left me a letter, saying it was my destiny to be the only one with the power to stop them. I just wish I didn't have to. How should I do it?" he asked resignedly.
"There is only one person who has the knowledge necessary to get rid of the Centre," she told him quietly.
"You want me to sim Raines??" he asked incredulously. "I've spent a good chunk of my life trying to keep him out of my mind, and now you want me to let him in willingly?"
"No, I want you to get into his head, not the other way around. Jarod. Do you think you will ever be able to find your family and live with them if the Centre is still around? They will never let it happen. You. we have to stop them. I'll help once we have the plan, but you're the only one who can make the plan."