dayglo_parker@yahoo.com
PART EIGHT
He took in his own shallow breath, and the pain seared from his abdomen. He squeezed his eyes shut and winced, letting the air escape from his lips. This process he repeated for almost five minutes before he started to become numb to the pain from his gunshot wound. He knew he was receiving just enough painkillers to keep his cognizant, but hardly comfortable.
The sound of artificial wheezing didn't register in his brain at first. It blended in with the hiss of his own machines.
"You're awake," the figure hissed. He craned his neck as best he could to glimpse the man, but he had positioned himself far enough in the shadows so as to be out of sight. "It's a miracle he didn't kill you."
Lyle had nothing to say, and he kept his mouth shut. Raines advanced from the shadows, pulling his oxygen tank behind him. His expression was not one of pleasure.
He was next to Lyle's bed, leaning over him. If looks could have killed, then Raines would have finished Lyle off. "What the hell were you thinking? Do you have any idea what kind of jeopardy you've placed this project in?"
Still, Lyle was silent.
"ANSWER ME!" Raines boomed. His voice echoed in the empty halls of the Centre's Infirmary. Lyle didn't have an answer for his father, and the old man was shaking his head. "I can only imagine you weren't in your right mind when you did what you did."
Inside, something snapped.
"We were losing credibility with her!" he rasped. He hadn't had much liquid since he had regained consciousness, and his father didn't seem keen on providing him with any. "I did what I thought was right."
"By eliminating her?" Raines chuckled. "I didn't think you were that stupid, Lyle. I hope you didn't get that from me."
He seethed. "I didn't plan on killing her, if you must know." The statement piqued Raines' interest. "Surveillance proves her and Jarod are..." he searched for the proper word, "closer than her reports let on. I was willing to test that closeness."
Raines started to back towards the exit, instead choosing a chair sitting waywardly near it. "You failed with Zoe," he commented. "You thought you could win this time, too?" He shook his head, still smiling a bit. "Son, when are you going to learn there's much more than the simple pursuit?"
The question was rhetorical. Lyle sensed the unspoken hesitation in Raines that he would have known in Mr. Parker to be disappointment. But then Raines would never be up front about something like that; instead, he'd make Lyle earn his trust the hard way.
"How's our timetable look like?"
A smile hung on Raines' face for a moment before he answered. "Given your condition, I don't think you're quite ready to be back in the swing of things."
He should have expected it; it surprised him nonetheless.
Raines wordlessly slipped out of the room, the sound of an oxygen tank desperate for oil retreating down the Infirmary's long corridor. Son of a bitch, Lyle fumed. Cox must have put him up to this. Yes, Lyle decided, this was that doctor's doing. He knew how to manipulate Raines into doing his bidding, and excluding his son from the one project he had practically built was only the final brick in his wall of power.
Lyle knew what he had to do, even if it jeopardized his own future and the future of the very project he had staked his life to only a few years earlier.
*
October 31, 1959
Dear Margaret,
Congratulations! I am so happy for you and Charles. I have never doubted that the two of you would be anything other than the best of parents to a child, and I'm thrilled that life has seen fit to give you the opportunity. While it may seem next to impossible at times, I speak from experience when I say that the next seven months will be the most enjoyable ones in your entire life, filled with many new discoveries of the wonders of life.
One of these new discoveries has left me reconsidering all the plans I had carefully planned. I am, in fact, expecting twins now, it seems. Can you believe it? Here I was ready to welcome one bundle of joy into my life, and now I find my joy doubled as this welcome piece of news! Though I find I could never tell him the full truth about our expected family, my husband seems as thrilled with this revelation as I.
On the heels of both our pieces of good news, we must get together for lunch soon. I imagine we have many names and stories to trade. You would not believe the size of my stomach since we last saw each other!
I hope to see you soon.
Yours truly,
Catherine
*
Parker had moved from isolation in an empty room to isolation in a filled one. She was curled up by a raging fireplace, the blanket still draped over her lap, the piece of paper and old photo turning over in her fingers. She was simply staring at the burning logs, her eyes and ears entranced by the crackling while her mind raced. Behind her in the kitchen area, Jarod and Major Charles sat with Peter and a laptop.
She had always been aware that her mother and Jarod's mother has known each other. Margaret's reaction to Parker on Carthis was proof of that relationship. But some how she had never imagined how close they were, never fathomed that her and Jarod would have met had regardless of Centre intervention. Again she turned the photo over, her eyes running over the caption written in familiar handwriting that she had memorized.
Marnie 6 mos.
Jarod 2 mos.
Charlevoix, Michigan
July, 1960
"I remember the first time you visited us in Michigan."
Parker turned suddenly at the voice beside her, and found Charles seated next to her. His features were soft, and the light from the fire danced on his wizened face. He quietly took the photo from her loose fingers, and regarded it with a smile.
"We took you two out into the backyard and we had a picnic." He was shaking the photo as he spoke. "It took your mother so long to keep you from squirming long enough to snap this. You were so curious."
Parker didn't know what to say to the man. She wasn't sure words would do. He continued. "We tried for years before your mother was able to get us on the fast track at NuGenesis. At the time..." he paused, "at the time, it seemed like a dream come true. The doctors had told Margaret it was unlikely she would be able to carry a child to term, and yet the doctors at NuGenesis managed to give us three beautiful children."
Charles looked into the fire. "Did you know Margaret was with your mother when she went into labor?" Parker's expression was incredulous; no, she hadn't been aware of that fact. "They were having lunch at this little diner when your mother's water broke. Margaret wanted her to go to a hospital, but your mother insisted on calling your father." He stopped for a moment, shaking the photo once more for emphasis. "This was the first time they had seen each other since you and Jarod were born, since she..." he searched for the right word, "lost the other child. It wasn't hard to see her devotion to you."
Parker silently took the photo back, running it through her fingers, trying to conjure up a memory of the day that simply did not exist. Charles, however, continued to speak. "Their friendship was strained, obvious, after..." He didn't finish the sentence, instead moving on. "Margaret and I knew Catherine was in a delicate position at Centre, and it was no secret who was responsible for taking Jarod. But...I guess Margaret expected that her and Catherine would band together and rescue him."
Charles looked at Parker, into her eyes. She saw the same raw intensity and compassion in his that she saw in Jarod's. Like father, like son. His voice was whispered, broken, and uncharacteristic of the old man. "Sometimes I try to remember her - Margaret, that is, not your mother - try to remember the happy times we had together, with Jarod, and...I can't. It's like...it's like her face is gone from my memory banks."
Parker felt something hit inside of her. Sydney had shared with her Jarod's own fear at not remembering his mother's face. Countless DSAs illustrated this. Would a similar fate have befallen her if not for the numerous photos of Catherine Parker sprinkled around her home and office? If she had repressed the day of her death in my memory for years, would a similar fate have been delivered to the many happy memories of her mother? Parker shuddered to think of the possibility.
Charles pulled the folded piece of paper from his pocket, fingering it much as Parker had the photo. "I," he began, stopping abruptly. His voice was now barely a whisper, almost inaudible over the dull crackle of the fireplace. "I don't know what I'm going to say to her. I don't know if words can replace all these years we've missed out on." To Parker, he sounded so vulnerable.
A voice shattered their private conversation.
"I'm in!" exclaimed Peter.
The photo still clasped between her fingers, the blanket across her laps lay discarded as Parker and Major Charles huddled around the boy at the kitchen table. Jarod stood just behind Parker, his arms folded across his chest and his face wearing an expression she couldn't read. She felt his eyes reading over her shoulder as she examined the computer screen. The boy had managed to break into the blue box computer files at the Colorado installation, a feat worthy of Broots himself, she noted.
"Try 'Specimen Records,'" Parker suggested. A prompt appeared on the screen, requesting the desired specimen record, and Parker rattled off the number she had memorized from the file she had stolen.
Nine related files appeared, but the group soon learned that what was available was also heavily encrypted. From what decrypted information Parker could find, there seemed to be records of culturing, growing, implantations...
Her eye caught on the final file.
"Download that," she ordered. Parker glanced at Jarod, adding, "We might have better luck decrypting once we're detached from the system." He simply shrugged in reply.
*
Sometimes, when he was alone, she talked to him, but only to him. None of the grown-ups could hear, and he liked that. She was his friend, and his alone.
"Don't be afraid, little one," she said. Her voice was so soft and warm. "Momma is coming for you soon. Don't you worry."
He saw her standing in front of him, and tried to reach for her hand. His bed prevented him from reaching her, however.
"I go away," he said with sadness. "Far away. You come, too?"
She smiled. "Of course I'll come. I'll always be with you, little one. Your Momma will be here, too."
Her words comforted him, and he lay quietly in his bed, shutting his eyes. After a minute, he opened them, and she was still there beside him.
"Momma happy, like you?"
His friend seemed to reflect on the question before answering. "She will be. You'll see."
*
Raines fingered the small, familiar disk. The disk had been removed from Centre storage a day ago, but no one seemed to know a thing. It was simply there...and then it wasn't. Now it sat in his hands, as if tempting fate to finger him in the theft. It had come in a small package by this morning's mail, no return address or declaration of origin to be found anywhere. But Raines didn't need a postmark or a name to tell him where the DSA had come from. Its contents had Mr. Parker's name written all over them, however invisible.
With slight hesitation, he placed the DSA in its appropriate slot and pressed 'play' on the viewer.
For Centre use
Chairman's Office
08/25/59
Mr. Parker pushed himself back in his chair, his eyes skimming the report he held in his hands. He stayed that way for some time before the sound of his office door whooshing open startled him. He looked up to see Catherine standing in the doorway, and his face seemed--for an instant--to light up.
He rose quickly, greeting her in the center of the office. Already halfway through her second trimester, Catherine's ever-growing stomach was visible underneath her clothes. Her step, it seem as well, was acquiring a distinctive waddle.
"How is my little Parker?" Mr. Parker asked expectantly. He placed his hands on her stomach, his eyes lit with wonder at the growing child within her.
"Very active - giving Momma quite a workout today," Catherine replied with a slight wince. "I had another checkup. Did you know our baby isn't supposed to be kicking this much for another few weeks?"
"Nothing my son does is surprising. He's a Parker, Catherine."
His wife tilted her head to the side. "A son? What makes you so sure?"
Parker had an expression on his face that mocked disappointment. "I just know."
She shook her head, and Parker made his way back to his desk. She stood there as he took his seat, as if waiting for him to initiate the next part of the conversation. When he picked up his file and began to read again, she broached the subject.
"You said there was something we needed to discuss."
Parker looked up, his face showing confusion for a split second. Then he remembered. "Oh yes." He put the file down. "I might have some good news for that friend of yours - what was her name again?"
"Margaret."
"Margaret! Her husband is with the Air Force?
"That's right."
"How do you know these people, Catherine?"
Catherine knew her husband was avoiding the question. "You said you might have good news..."
"Patience, my dear. Patience!" He smiled. "Now, I talked with some of my friends down at our Atlanta clinic and I told them that Margaret and her husband have been trying there for over five months with no success and I think I may have managed to get them on the accelerated track." Catherine's face was clouded with confusion. "The accelerated track, Catherine! They'll be given priority! From what you've told me, they seem like perfect candidates for a child and if God won't help them then I'll be damned if I can't."
His wife looked like she might cry. Her face boiled over with happiness. "I can't believe it. This is wonderful, wonderful news! I must write to Margaret at once!"
A moment. Her happiness suddenly began to wane, but her husband's smile sustained. Suspicion began to grow. "Why are you doing this?" she asked cautiously.
"I told you already," he replied. "From what you've told me, they seem like the perfect parents. Perhaps it's my own happiness at our own arrival that makes me want to share this event with everyone." He sensed her suspicion. "Don't you believe me?"
Catherine shook her head. "Priority track in Atlanta is reserved for extremely privileged couples--"
"--like your friends--"
"--or potential test subjects." The suggestion fell into the silent room. All traces of happiness on Parker's face were gone now. "Just...tell me you're not using them as test subjects. Tell me you haven't stored their genetic material already."
Parker said nothing, only glanced at the file on his desk. Catherine noticed the action, and before he could react, snatched the report from his desk. She scanned the header, noting it was copy of a transfer of materials to Pakor Foods, Inc., dated three days ago. She knew there was only one interpretation of that place.
"You son of a bitch," she hissed. "You're not interested in my friends, you're interested in furthering your career!" She felt the tear ducts in her eyes welling up. "Why! Why - give me one good reason why!"
He met her gaze and held it firmly.
"Prodigy."
The project name caught her off-guard.
"What about it?"
Parker came out from behind his desk, drawing closer to his wife. "This is it! This is the breakthrough we've been looking for! For years Raines has been trying to create a Prodigy from a normal child - I'm here to tell you we've found one, ready-made!"
"Margaret?" she replied unbelieving. "And Charles?"
"Yes!" he replied with enthusiasm.
"And you think they they're going to just sign over their miracle child to you just like that?" Parker didn't answer. "I can't do this."
"What?"
"I can't lead my friend into this trap. I won't."
Parker held her gaze for another moment before returning to his desk again. To Catherine, it was not a sign of defeat; instead, it was a gesture that there was to be no debate about whether or not she would participate. Rubbing her stomach, she realized she didn't have much of a choice.
The DSA finished and it slid out of the player. Raines did not pick it up, instead thinking about the scene he had just witnessed. In his mind, he tried to figure out the message Mr. Parker was trying to send, and had no luck finding it.
*
Sydney thought that perhaps staring at the telephone might will it to ring. Four hours, he had been sitting in the solitude and darkness of his office, his mind racing as it rushed to justify the length of silence since he had last spoken to either Jarod or Miss Parker. Were they dead? was the question that had entered his mind, followed by Are they hurt? and Are they safe? and Where are they? and, finally, Have they found what they're looking for?
Sydney knew what Jarod was looking for; his goal had not changed in five years. To find his family was his most important goal, to stay out of the Centre's grasp a close second. If she grudgingly went along and he helped Parker find hers on the way, then things were as close to perfect as they could manage. But Sydney could only imagine what lurked in the corners of Parker's mind; it was a position she had willingly put them into. No doubt her brother and New York City were on her mind, but his distracted tone of voice days earlier had suggested something else was eating away at her tone.
With frustration bred from hours of disappoint, his eye left the telephone. All he wanted was a phone call, an email, something, anything to cool his nerves. It wasn't much. Jarod had managed much more than this under far more stressful conditions than these. And yet nothing. Perhaps the addition of Miss Parker to equation cooled his communication skills? Sydney let the thought hang in his mind rather than exploring the possible implications of that thought.
He had no one to share his anxiety with, no one but Broots in the Centre who he trusted. Most didn't care one way or another, or else they were the roots of the problem. Sydney had sent Broots off in search of information, furthering isolating himself. He wanted to do something! More times than naught had found him powerless in such situations as these, forced to sit in his office and wait for things to change instead of being the one to change them. Miss Parker would pick up her gun, perhaps intimidate someone to get what she wanted. Broots would hack into a database. But Sydney had no means of information gathering outside of his co-workers. So there he sat, alone and impatient.
The scurrying of footsteps along the tiled floor could only announce the arrival of one person. Inwardly, Sydney sighed impatient. This dance was becoming exceedingly predictable. He waited for the bombshell to drop, for the next revelation to follow and for the plot to thicken. His life was turning into a twisted story, or perhaps it had always been that way?
Broots' face was dark, an expression the small man did not wear very well. His unfamiliarity with it could have been to blame.
"You're not going to believe this..."
*
If Raines had been angry at the discovery of an empty motel room in Pennsylvania, now he was seething.
"Find him!" he hissed, and sweepers scattered.
They futilely searched under beds and behind respirators. Curtains to private alcoves were yanked back; suites were tossed in the frantic search for the missing man. Lyle's "escape" had plunged the entire Infirmary and Renewal Wing into turmoil. How did a man with a two-day old gunshot wound to the abdomen escape from a wing under lock and key? Raines concluded he had help, and within minutes the interrogation of the usual suspects began.
Looking around at the chaos, it dawned on him, the connection so evident in his mind. The son of a bitch had dangled his access in front of his face with an arrogant defiance only the Parkers could muster.
Raines had always known this struggle for power between he and Mr. Parker had been like a chess game. Except now, he wasn't sure what the next move was yet.
TBC