Disclaimer: The Pretender and all characters therein belong to their respective owners, which isn't me. However, I created Sarah, so she is mine! Enjoy!


Let There Be A Light
Part 7
By Tchabu

***

Sarah opened her eyes and tried to stretch. Her arms wouldn't move. Still groggy, she struggled weakly until she realized that she was in a straight jacket. That revelation brought the memories of what had happened, and the thought that it was all her fault. The cobwebs fell away from her mind. I killed my own brother, she thought, as surely as if I did it with my own hands.

The guilt hit her then. She was a murderer! She'd known better than to tell Jarod; she'd known the consequences. Nevertheless, she'd told him, and Lyle had found out, and now Jarod was dead, all because of her. She wondered if it would be better for everybody involved if she was dead. Not knowing what else to do, she forced herself into a sitting position, drew her knees up to her chest, and prayed the only thing that came to mind:

"Let there be a light by which to guide my feet…"

***

Sydney glanced at his watch. By now, Sarah should be awake, so he decided to go check on her again. After the incident with Lyle, he was extremely concerned about the girl. I owe them, he thought. If not Sarah, then certainly Jarod.

He found her on her bed, sitting curled up in the corner with her eyes tightly shut. Her lips were moving, but no sound escaped. She was still entangled in the straight jacket, and he wished there was something he could do to help her. Not wanting to startle her, he called out in a comforting voice from the doorway where he stood.

"Sarah? Are you there?" She wasn't; just as it had been since she'd been here, there was no answer. He touched her shoulder and spoke to her several times, but the girl was completely unresponsive, although she continued to whisper to herself. Finally, by listening carefully and reading her lips, he was able to discern what she was saying.

"Forgive me for all that I have done. Let there be a light by which to guide my feet…"

***

Miss Parker looked over the box to see if, by some imbalance in the universe, there was a return address or any clue at all. No such luck. Jarod was much too meticulous for that. Oh, well. It wasn't as if she even really wanted to bring him in. There could be no more burying her head in the sand after what she'd seen. She pulled a small knife from her desk and sliced through the packing tape. In the midst of all the Styrofoam peanuts she found a CD case. Curiously, the huntress slid it into her stereo and pressed "play."

As the sounds began to permeate the room, Parker idly sifted through the filler to see if there was anything else. She was rewarded with a pair of framed photographs. One was very familiar: it was a copy of the one sitting on her desk, in which she was sitting on her mother's lap. The other depicted a pretty young red head and a man with short black hair and deep brown eyes-Sarah and Jarod. They were seated side by side on a park bench, the perfect picture of a happy family. Parker noticed how alike the two were. Both had the strong chin and prominent noses that marked their appearances apart fro everybody else's.

Then the music broke into her thoughts and she recognized the haunting melody. Without question, she accepted the fact that Jarod had sent her the audio track of a DSA, because it was definitely Sarah's playing. Once again, the music moved her to tears.

Parker saw the message Jarod was sending her. She'd lost the only people she had loved and been loved by, and so had the two people in the photo. Only this time, it was as much Parker's fault as anyone's in the Centre.

She poured herself a drink and said, through her tears, "Damn it, Jarod, bringing your sister back was no great victory for me." She sat alone in the dark, listening to the piano music and sipping on her drink.

***

Angelo scrambled silently through the heating ducts. He had everything he would need for the short trip in a bag slung across his shoulders. The time was definitely right, he thought.

***

"Ly-le," Parker softly singsonged into his ear. He didn't open his eyes, so she roughly smacked him on the side of the head, growling, "Wake up!"

Her brother groaned. The Centre's infirmary was not exactly the most comfortable place in the world, and unwanted visitors didn't help matters much. "What?" came the muffled reply from under the bandages in which his head was swathed.

Parker leaned close and smiled coldly. "I'm just dying to know how an abused, drugged, and malnourished girl half your age can land you in the infirmary.

"Go away." The command was not nearly as forceful or commanding as he would have liked, but, under the circumstances, it would have to do.
"I don't think so." Miss Parker rested the heel of her palm menacingly over his mutilated nose, giving it just enough pressure to be painful. "So, what did you do? Did she finally get tired of the beatings? Or maybe she just decided to society a good turn and get rid of you?" She spoke slowly to draw his anger and pain out as long as possible. "She's only a child, you know, and will only take so much before she snaps. But then, you found that out on your own, didn't you?"

"Going soft, sis?"

"Don't bet on it. You'd just better watch who you turn into enemies." With a vicious twist on his nose, she stalked from the room, leaving the curtains to flutter in her breeze.

***

Sarah was curled into a fetal position, facing the wall, when she heard a noise behind her. As cluttered as her mind was, she thought it was Sydney coming in through the door. But a split second later, she felt Angelo's presence, so she turned, with difficulty, to greet him. He always had a calming influence on her because, despite the fear and pain he knew, he'd learned much about joy and it had stayed with him.

When Angelo's friend met his eyes, a wall of forceful anguish hit him and he backed away with a moan. Knowing what frightened him, Sarah tried to comfort him.

"It's okay, Angelo. You're fine," she soothed. His fears allayed, he sat down next to her, while she began to work on the buckles of her straight jacket.

"Hurt." It was more a statement than a question.

"Yes, I hurt, Angelo. I'm sad and lonely."

The childish man put his hand on her shoulder and looked into her eyes. "Anger. Guilty, but shouldn't be."

"Why shouldn't I feel guilty? I am guilty. I'm responsible for Jarod's death." Instead of answering, her friend grinned triumphantly as the final buckle came undone and Sarah was free to use her arms again. Well, one of them, she thought, stretching carefully. "That feels better," she stated, noncommittally. She watched as Angelo reached into his bag and pulled out a think coat. Sarah could tell from the feel of it that it was Miss Parker's. To her surprise, he made her put it on, and she realized that he would help her get out.

She asked Angelo for something to write with, but, as he had no paper, she scribbled something onto her pillowcase. Then she was boosted into the vent, with Angelo following.

***
That's all for now, folks. If you liked it, hated it, or thought it was mediocre, let me know!