01/12/03
The Other Side of Despair Part7
The police department had been as cooperative as possible. They had put Jarod's name and photo out on the statewide system but even if an officer spotted him, there was little the authorities could do. He hadn't done anything illegal.
The Sullivan family did a little sleuthing of their own. Jarod had been spotted in town the afternoon he had left the ranch. Everyone there knew him. The Sullivans had a reputation in the tiny burg near their home. Jarod's philanthropic efforts had earned him his name in gold on a plaque at the library. The townsfolk had wanted to name the new elementary school after him but Jarod had insisted against the idea.
Doris, waitress and owner at the only coffee shop in the little township, had sold him a cup of coffee and a donut on the day he had disappeared. She had scolded him for being out in November without so much as a sweater for warmth. Sheriff Bradford had seen him hitchhiking north, just outside of town late that same afternoon. The sheriff had assumed that Jarod was dealing with some kind of car trouble. He would have stopped to give Jarod a lift himself except that the sheriff had been answering a traffic accident call at the time.
Jarod must have gotten a ride eventually, because by nightfall, he had vanished with out a trace.
Ethan created a program that would scan the police databases across the country looking for hits on certain keywords. He hoped that there would eventually be some sign of Jarod. He didn't tell Margaret or Charles, but Ethan was also researching the physical statistics of all John Does showing up at morgues.
Surprisingly enough, Ethan's computer found a hit on Jarod less than two weeks after he disappeared. He'd been arrested just the day before in Chicago, Illinois. Major Charles and Ethan were there the following morning.
They walked into the precinct and flashed Jarod's picture to the sergeant sitting at the desk.
"We understand that this man was brought in a couple of days ago by one of your officers." The Major said firmly.
"Sorry." The woman said. "I've been off duty. I just came in this morning. Let me see if he is still being held here at the precinct. Name?" She asked as she turned toward her computer.
Just then, a gray-haired bear of a man came lumbering through the room. He was very tall and wore his uniform like a man who had been born to serve. The cop had an old, wicked scar running down one side of his face. He would have looked intimidating if not for the big grin he wore.
The sergeant at the desk stopped him. "Casey." She said. "You were on your beat this weekend weren't you?"
"Yup." The huge man grunted.
"Have you seen this man?" The major asked, showing Jarod's photo again. "He was arrested here a couple of days ago."
Big burly hands, took the picture. Officer Casey was nodding after barely a glance. "Oh, Jarod. Sure, I saw him. Brought him in myself." He handed the photo back to Major Charles. "It was damn cold that night and I found him sleeping on a bench over by the plaza. I picked him up for vagrancy."
"May we see him?" the major asked.
"He's gone." The officer said. "Can't hold anyone long for vagrancy. We gave him a hot meal and a warm place to sleep. We sent him down to the shelter on Clark Street the next morning."
"Can you tell me how to get to this shelter?" The major asked, undaunted.
"Sure," Casey said motioning toward the female sergeant. As the woman rummaged through her desk, Casey said, "Strange duck, that Jarod. I mean the guy didn't have a damn thing in his pockets. He wasn't even wearing a coat. But he talked like we'd been friends for years."
The woman handed Major Charles a photocopy of a street map, the location of the shelter on Clark Street had been circled with a blue pen.
"Thank you for your help, officers." The major said as he turned to leave.
"When you get there, ask for Rudy." Casey called after them. "Tell him I sent you."
At the Clark Street shelter, Rudy was an easy-going, soft-spoken black man with a limp. He too had seen Jarod.
"I'm real sorry, sir." Rudy drawled. "But I'm afraid that Jarod left this morning, right after breakfast. A shame too, that boy played a real fine game of chess. I'll miss him."
Ethan asked. "Did he seem upset, or angry to you?"
"Nah." Rudy scoffed. "Jarod was real polite, very helpful. He didn't have that homeless air about him." The major frowned in confusion. "When most people see a vagrant on the street, they either feel sorry for them or they feel afraid of them. That homeless air about 'cha, I call it." Rudy explained. "Jarod didn't have it."
"Do you have any idea where he may have gone?" The major asked.
"I told him to pick a coat from the donation bin." Rudy said. "He took one that was nice and warm but not very fashionable, if you know what I mean. Jarod said that he'd need to be warmer as he was headed north. I can't get any more precise than that."
Major Charles shook hands with the other man and thanked him. He could see that Ethan was disappointed at missing Jarod. But the Major had spent too many years being this close to finding his son. There had been many times when Major Charles would hear of Jarod's whereabouts only days after he had left an area. The good news was that Jarod was alive and seemed to be doing okay.
The Major and Ethan went back to the ranch to wait for the next tip on Jarod.
The next lead on Jarod came from the pretender himself. It was nearly midnight on December 22nd when the phone rang at Sydney's house. The aging psychiatrist had fallen asleep in his favorite chair, a leather bound book drooped in his lap. The jangling phone startled Sydney into wakefulness.
"Hello," Sydney said groggily.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
"Hello?" Sydney repeated in his thick accent.
"Are you going with them to the ranch, Sydney?" Jarod's voice murmured from the phone.
"Jarod!" Sydney cried. "Are you all right? We've been worried about you."
"Are you going with them?" the pretender repeated.
"Yes." His mentor answered. "I always spend the holidays with Parker and my goddaughter. We are flying out to your parent's place in the morning."
"Tell them all not to worry about me." Jarod said.
"Come home and tell them yourself, Jarod." Sydney replied gently.
"Not yet." Jarod said gruffly.
"Jarod, where are you?" Sydney asked. "Let me come and get you."
"No, Sydney." Jarod's voice took on a sad, forlorn tone. "I'm lost. I've lost the person I was, the person I had hoped to be. I need to find my own way home."
Sydney nodded in understanding. "When will you be back?"
"I don't know." Jarod answered. "Just tell them not to worry. I'll keep in touch."
Sydney heard a click followed by the dial tone as Jarod ended the phone call much the same way he had back in the days of The Centre.
Christmas day had been spent at the ranch in a strange state of expectation. Everyone hoped that Jarod would walk through the door at some point during the day. As the sky began to grow dark without an appearance by the missing pretender, hopes shifted to at least hearing from him. But the day slipped by with no word.
In mid-January Ethan received a package addressed to him at the ranch. The printed labels and postmark indicated that the parcel had been shipped from an attorney's office in Boston, Massachusetts. The box contained several documents, sighed by Jarod, giving Ethan the power to make executive decisions at Paradigm. Most issues at the corporation could be handled by vice-presidents and other executives. But there were some things that had been put aside until Jarod returned from his "holiday".
With Ethan now legally acting in his stead, Jarod had essentially removed himself from the hierarchy at Paradigm.
Weeks went by. Major Charles and his wife continued to search for their missing son. Miss Parker even called in a few favors and had Broots helping with the hunt as well. But Jarod left no trail to follow. He never withdrew funds from any of his sizeable bank accounts. There was no trace of a Jarod Sullivan matching his description anywhere. It became apparent that Jarod was using alias names again. Jarod's mother received the first red notebook late in February.
Delivered to Margaret in a Federal Express overnight package, the little book looked just like the thousands of other red notebooks Jarod had made over the years. But Margaret had never seen any of those booklets. They had been a part of his life at The Centre. They had been a part of Jarod's life that this mother had never known.
It was in a phone conversation with Parker that Margaret learned of the red book's significance.
The articles in the notebook indicated that Jarod had recently been in Maine. The first headline read, "Fisherman's family struggles through hard times." Evidently, there was a fisherman named Ted Raime living on the coast of Maine. He and his family had been barely scraping by during this difficult time of the year. When Raime had broken his leg in a rigging accident, the thin financial line he'd been treading started to give way.
The following pages in the notebook contained sketches of a quaint seaside town, dusted with snow. There were drawings of several different types of fish and coordinates were notated along the edges of the page, presumably indicating where the fish could be found.
The final piece of information in the book had been another article about Raime. He and his wife stood smiling in front of their fishing boat. The headline read, "Local Fisherman plots school movement." With an uncanny accuracy, the fisherman could now predict where to lower his nets in order to bring in the best catch. Raime was making more money on fewer trips out to sea. Even hobbling on a broken leg, he was beginning to make a profit.
Circled in red on the black and white photograph, was a fisherman in the background. He was standing on the deck of the Raime's boat, bent over a series of nets. He was dressed in fisherman's garb, oversized boots and a heavy slicker, so the viewer couldn't see his face. But the red circle was connected to an arrow that pointed to one word. Written in neat block letters it read "ME."
Ethan had been busy at Paradigm that week so only Margaret and the Major went to Maine to talk with the Raime family about their son.
"Didn't think he could do the job at first." Ted Raime told them. Jarod's parents sat at the kitchen table with Ted and his wife Wendy in their simple home near the coast. "He didn't have the hands for it. His calluses weren't in the right places to be a fisherman."
"I didn't think Jarod had ever tossed a net in his life." Wendy said with a smile as she sipped at a cup of coffee.
"But I couldn't afford not to hire him." Ted added. "I needed cheap help and all he wanted was room and board."
"How long did Jarod stay with you?" The Major asked.
"Three weeks. Just long enough to fix up that motorcycle he bought from Marcus Green's son." Ted answered. "I wish he had stayed longer. Hauling fish is hard, dirty work but Jarod did a good job."
"He said that all a man needed was to work hard, eat well and get a good night's sleep." The fisherman's wife said fondly. "Jarod loved my cooking."
"Do you have any idea where he was headed when he left?" Margaret asked the woman desperately.
"He said that he was going to see an old friend but he didn't say who or where." Wendy said.
"Thank you both for your time." The Major said as he and Margaret prepared to leave.
"Thank you." Ted said. "Your son did a lot for me and mine. When you see him again, you tell him I said so."
On the flight home, Charles and Margaret started making a list of all Jarod's friends. Once they got back to the ranch, they called Parker and Syd and asked them for more names. By the time they had finished, there was an extensive list of people to track down and call in search of Jarod.
It took two weeks for Margaret and Emily to work through the list. They asked everyone that they contacted if they had seen Jarod. No one had. Each person was thanked and then given a message to forward to Jarod if they saw him in the future.
Who ever Jarod had gone to see, he or she was not on the list of friends that Jarod's family knew.
It was a warm spring day early in April when Emily answered the door at the ranch to find a scraggly looking character standing on the porch.
"Hey there, Doll." The man said.
"May I help you?" Emily asked defensively. She was wary of this stranger. He had oily brown hair and two or three days worth of beard on his chin. In the yard behind him, Emily could see a large bright blue motorcycle. Painted on the gas tank was a strange symbol and the words "Skint Rabbit".
"Yea," the man said shifting nervously. "Is this the Sullivan ranch? I'm looking for a guy called Major Charles."
"He's my father." Emily said. "What do you want?"
"My name is Huey. I sold Jarod my bike. He told me to give this to the Major," The man held up a white envelope. "And I'd get my money."
"Dad!" Emily yelled into the house.
The Major appeared beside her within moments.
"This is Huey." Emily told her father. "He says that Jarod sent him."
Major Charles frowned. "You know my son?" he asked.
"Yea, man." Huey answered with a smile. "We go way back. I've known J, for what, like eight years or somethin'. We met at the Vista House during my first term."
"Vista House?" the Major pried.
"Rehab." Huey said raking a hand through his tangled hair. "Took me three tries to get it to stick but I've been clean for four years now."
"You met Jarod in a drug rehabilitation center?" the older man asked in disbelief.
"Yep." Huey said with a grin. "But I'm not sure that Jarod was actually there for rehab. He busted this doctor who was framing one of his patients. Got her all stoned so's she would lose custody of her kid."
"Jarod wasn't an addict was he?" Emily interrupted.
Huey laughed. "J was an addict all right. He knows way too much about the hurtin' to not have been an addict once. But I don't think he was strung out when I met him is what I mean."
Major Charles frowned with concern as he took the envelope Huey offered him. The Major opened the seal and found a letter inside, neatly printed in Jarod's handwriting.
"Dad," the letter said. "This is my friend Huey. He has sold me his Harley. I promised him fifty grand for it. I know that the price is a little steep but he put a lot of work into that bike and Huey needs the money. He'll need a bus ticket back to Scottsdale, AZ as well. Thanks."
The note was signed simply. "J"
"Let's go inside shall we?" the Major said after reading the letter. "Tell me, Huey. How long did Jarod visit with you?"
Huey looked around in amazement, as the group walked into the house. "Oh. A week or so I guess. We tooled around on our bikes. Listened to some righteous tunes. We talked about stuff."
"What stuff?" Charles asked inquisitively.
Huey shrugged. "About the reaper mostly." At the major's confused look, Huey explained further. "The addiction to smack, man. Jarod wondered why we beat ourselves up with the stuff. Why do we torture our souls by using even after it stops offering any enjoyment?"
"What did you tell him?" The major asked.
Huey shrugged again. "I think sometimes we get so disappointed in ourselves, so damned miserable in our own skins that we feel maybe we deserve the pain, you know what I mean?"
"Do you know where Jarod is now?" Emily interrupted.
Huey smiled. "He told me you'd ask." He chuckled. "He wanted me to tell you not to worry about him."
"He's been gone for a long time." Emily whispered.
"He's doing okay." Huey reassured her. "He's clean and sober and he seems fit enough."
The Major sighed. "Come on into the study, Huey and I'll write you a check."
The strange man stayed for the night and the major put him on a bus back to Arizona the next morning.
Jarod became pretty consistent about making some kind of contact with his family on a semi-regular basis. In May, he left a message for his daughter on Parker's answering machine.
Parker and little Sydney had just returned from the girl's first dance recital. Parker and Syd had proudly sat in the audience while the youngster pirouetted on stage with a dozen other children. Syd had patiently stood with the crowd of fathers and recorded the entire program on a camcorder so that the little girl could send it to her grandparents.
When they returned home, afterward, Parker juggled a bag of groceries with one hand as she talked to her daughter while trying to unlock her front door with the other.
"Momma," Sydney asked. "Can I wear my costume to school tomorrow?"
Parker smiled indulgently at her daughter. The dancers had each dressed in different colors of the rainbow. Sydney's outfit was a deep emerald green silk leotard with green gauze wings. The little girl absolutely adored the costume.
"I don't think it would hold up to a full day at school, dear." Parker said.
Sydney shrugged dejectedly as the two entered the house. Parker dropped her keys on the end table and headed toward the kitchen to put a few things in the refrigerator. As she passed the answering machine, Parker hit the play button in response to the flashing message light.
"Hello, Kitten." Jarod's voice rose from the recording, startling Parker so badly, she nearly dropped her groceries.
"You dance wonderfully." Jarod said. "You sure look pretty in green. You should wear it more often. Do me a favor and tell your grandmother that I called."
The message ended with a click.
Sydney hopped up and down in excitement. "Daddy was there! He saw me dancing!" The girl clapped her hands with joy. "Did you hear, Momma? He said I looked pretty. Did you hear?"
Parker patted her daughter's head affectionately. "Yes, baby. I heard him."
Sydney rewound the tape to listen to Jarod's message again while Parker went into the kitchen. While Parker put items on their proper shelves, she wracked her brain trying to remember if she may have seen Jarod at the recital. He had obviously been there. Why hadn't Parker seen him?
Granted, there were a lot of other parents in the building and Parker hadn't really been looking for anything unusual. Jarod could have been standing at the back of the theatre the entire time and Parker would never have seen him.
The idea that Jarod was lurking around town gave Parker a weird conflicted feeling. She was glad to know that he was nearby, but knowing that Jarod could be outside right now watching the house made Parker uneasy.
Parker went from room to room turning on every light in house. If Jarod was watching, she wanted him to know that she knew he was there.
In a rented car parked at the corner, Jarod smiled at the warm glowing light coming from Parker's house. He slid his cell phone back into his pocket, crossed his arms and settled back to watch the shadows that crossed the windows of the house. Jarod sat in the parked car for nearly an hour before he started the engine and drove off into the night.
On the morning of her birthday in July, little Sydney woke up to find a beautifully wrapped birthday present sitting on the desk in her bedroom. Grinning with excitement, the girl bounced across the room and plucked the card from the top of the package. Neat block letters had been printed in the card with multi-colored magic markers.
The brief note read, "Happy Birthday Kitten."
The child's squeal of delight brought her mother to the room. By the time Parker opened the door, Sydney was tearing away the silver wrapping paper and lifting her gift from the box. It was a doll. Made of plush soft fabrics, the huggable doll had huge brown painted eyes. It had a deep green colored dress and fairy wings made of silk.
"Isn't she wonderful, Momma?" Sydney had gasped.
Parker nodded. As Sydney handed the doll to her, Parker sank in surprise into the soft, well-worn rocking chair near her daughter's bed. Parker caressed the silken wings and fingered the soft brown yarn of the doll's hair. When she silently handed the tiny fairy back to her daughter, Parker couldn't help but smile at the radiant look on the child's face.
Sydney was hugging the doll close when Parker suddenly realized, the cushions on the rocking chair in which she sat, were warm. Someone had been sitting here not long ago. Parker turned in her seat to stare meaningfully at the chair.
The chair itself was more than six years old. It had been a gift from Syd while Parker was pregnant. Many a night had been spent rocking her daughter to sleep in this rocker. A soft afghan was folded across the back of the chair. The blanket was normally used to wrap Parker and her daughter together in a warm cocoon while they read stories together on cold nights. Knowing what she would find before she searched for it, Parker took the quilt in one hand and lifted it to her face. She inhaled a tantalizingly spicy-sweet scent that she instantly recognized.
Jarod had been here. Until a short time ago, he had been sitting in this chair, probably watching Sydney sleep. Parker guessed that it was more than likely he had been there for most of the night.
Parker stood and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she gazed into the early summer morning. She saw no one. But she knew that he was there. Jarod had come inside her house last night. But rather than feeling irritated or uneasy about her intruder, Parker felt an odd sense of anticipation.
Little by little, step by step, Jarod was coming back. The pretender who had left gifts and small clues of his presence to annoy Miss Parker, was on his way back.
Parker smiled. "You'll have to call your grandmother later and tell her about your doll." She said as she led Sydney to the kitchen for breakfast.
"This is going to be a good birthday, Momma."
Of the many presents Sydney received that day, none was quite as special as the fairy doll dressed in green. The stuffed toy, christened as Belinda by her owner, was never far from young Sydney's side. The girl would take the doll everywhere her mother would allow. As dainty as the little fairy may have looked, she was surprisingly resilient and she was machine washable.
August turned hot and dry. By the end of the month, forest fires were burning across the state less than one hundred miles north of the ranch. Margaret, Charles and Jack were watching newscasts about the fires one night. They had friends further north whose home was along the projected burn path.
"I wish Eric and Carol would take us up on the offer to stay here until the danger passes." Margaret fretted.
The Major clasped her hand in his. "If the authorities order them to evacuate, I'm sure that they will come." He reassured her.
"Mom!" Jack exclaimed suddenly, pointing at the television. "Well, I'll be damned."
A news reporter was speaking seriously into a microphone, discussing estimated damage and potential hazards with one of the men in charge of the fire fighting efforts. Behind them, there was a temporary structure where tired soot covered men and women were resting, eating or drinking from Styrofoam cups. Gray smoke drifted across the scene in curling tendrils.
Sitting on a bench beside a table full of cups and jugs of water, was Jarod. Dressed like all the other firemen, he was covered in ashy dust and black soot streaked his sweaty face. He looked bone tired as he shoveled food into his mouth from a paper plate.
The reporter had moved from the man in charge and was now interviewing other personnel as they walked by the camera. Jarod had finished his meal and was pouring himself another glass of water when the reporter startled him.
"And what is your name, sir?" The reporter asked.
Jarod blinked at the camera in surprise. "Jarod." He mumbled.
"Where are you from Mr. Jarod?"
"Uh, Delaware." Jarod responded cautiously.
"Wow. You've come a very long way to help out with this effort." The reporter said. "What brought you across the country to volunteer for us?"
Jarod frowned. "My folks live near here."
The reporter nodded. "So you're here protecting the old homestead so to speak."
"Something like that." Jarod replied. "I have to get back to work." With that, Jarod tossed back the last of the fluid in his cup, grabbed up his gear and walked out of the camera's view.
The reporter and his cameraman moved on to interview another fire fighter.
Jack and his parents sat watching the television screen in stunned silence.
Finally, Margaret said, "We could be there in a couple of hours. We could bring him home."
The major patted her arm gently. "That whole area is off limits. The authorities wouldn't let us in there."
Margaret looked at her husband with tears swimming in her eyes. "He's so close. Why won't he come home?"
Jack stood and kissed his mother on the cheek. "He'll come home, Mom. When he is ready, Jarod will come home."
"Its just so frustrating to know that he is so close." Margaret whispered.
A month later, Ethan experienced similar aggravation about his brother.
Ethan had been in meetings all day. An important deal had just fallen through because of the whim of some spoiled debutante. So Ethan's mood was not good. His driver had been called away so Ethan now found himself standing on the city sidewalk, briefcase in one hand, and cell phone in the other while he tried to hail a cab.
Ethan's ire was reaching irregular heights when a yellow taxi miraculously appeared at the curb beside him.
Ethan ducked into the cab and barked an address at the driver. The cabbie was tall and had long brown hair that curled out from under the baseball cab he wore. Ethan paid little attention to the man as the cabbie made his way through the city traffic.
Dialing his office on his cell phone, Ethan contacted his assistant and sighed heavily. He talked animatedly with the other man about the horrendous meeting.
"I know, I know!" Ethan grimaced. He had a team of employees who had busted their butts working on this deal. And now weeks of effort were in jeopardy because some stupid socialite had gotten a bad vibe from her numerologist.
"Get Mr. Richardson on the phone." Ethan growled. "I want to talk to him the minute I get in. Maybe he can talk some sense into this granddaughter of his."
After listening to his assistant's response, Ethan cried. "I will not! I don't care what her horoscope told her, I refuse to get personally involved with that ditsy woman!"
"I know." Ethan said with a sigh. "I'm sorry." He added more calmly. "I shouldn't take my anger out on you, Jeff. That woman just seems to bring out the worst in me."
After a pause, Ethan frowned. "That is not funny, Jeff. Listen, see what you can do about getting hold of Richardson, I'm almost there. We'll talk in a few minutes."
With that, Ethan ended the phone call and tossed his cell phone into his briefcase in irritation. As the cab pulled to a stop in front of the Paradigm building, Ethan reached into his jacket and pulled some bills from his pocket.
Tossing the money into the front seat Ethan said gruffly, "Keep the change."
Stepping out of the car and onto the sidewalk, Ethan heard the cabdriver speak for the first time.
"Nice tip, bro." The deep soft voice purred. "Now I've got one for you."
Ethan stared open mouthed at the cabbie.
Jarod pushed the brim of the baseball cap up, revealing his face. "Don't work so hard. It's only money." Jarod grinned. "And it sounds like your ditsy friend is just what the doctor ordered."
With a suggestive wink, Jarod put the taxi in gear and drove away, leaving his little brother staring after him in shock.
End Part 7
The Other Side of Despair Part7
The police department had been as cooperative as possible. They had put Jarod's name and photo out on the statewide system but even if an officer spotted him, there was little the authorities could do. He hadn't done anything illegal.
The Sullivan family did a little sleuthing of their own. Jarod had been spotted in town the afternoon he had left the ranch. Everyone there knew him. The Sullivans had a reputation in the tiny burg near their home. Jarod's philanthropic efforts had earned him his name in gold on a plaque at the library. The townsfolk had wanted to name the new elementary school after him but Jarod had insisted against the idea.
Doris, waitress and owner at the only coffee shop in the little township, had sold him a cup of coffee and a donut on the day he had disappeared. She had scolded him for being out in November without so much as a sweater for warmth. Sheriff Bradford had seen him hitchhiking north, just outside of town late that same afternoon. The sheriff had assumed that Jarod was dealing with some kind of car trouble. He would have stopped to give Jarod a lift himself except that the sheriff had been answering a traffic accident call at the time.
Jarod must have gotten a ride eventually, because by nightfall, he had vanished with out a trace.
Ethan created a program that would scan the police databases across the country looking for hits on certain keywords. He hoped that there would eventually be some sign of Jarod. He didn't tell Margaret or Charles, but Ethan was also researching the physical statistics of all John Does showing up at morgues.
Surprisingly enough, Ethan's computer found a hit on Jarod less than two weeks after he disappeared. He'd been arrested just the day before in Chicago, Illinois. Major Charles and Ethan were there the following morning.
They walked into the precinct and flashed Jarod's picture to the sergeant sitting at the desk.
"We understand that this man was brought in a couple of days ago by one of your officers." The Major said firmly.
"Sorry." The woman said. "I've been off duty. I just came in this morning. Let me see if he is still being held here at the precinct. Name?" She asked as she turned toward her computer.
Just then, a gray-haired bear of a man came lumbering through the room. He was very tall and wore his uniform like a man who had been born to serve. The cop had an old, wicked scar running down one side of his face. He would have looked intimidating if not for the big grin he wore.
The sergeant at the desk stopped him. "Casey." She said. "You were on your beat this weekend weren't you?"
"Yup." The huge man grunted.
"Have you seen this man?" The major asked, showing Jarod's photo again. "He was arrested here a couple of days ago."
Big burly hands, took the picture. Officer Casey was nodding after barely a glance. "Oh, Jarod. Sure, I saw him. Brought him in myself." He handed the photo back to Major Charles. "It was damn cold that night and I found him sleeping on a bench over by the plaza. I picked him up for vagrancy."
"May we see him?" the major asked.
"He's gone." The officer said. "Can't hold anyone long for vagrancy. We gave him a hot meal and a warm place to sleep. We sent him down to the shelter on Clark Street the next morning."
"Can you tell me how to get to this shelter?" The major asked, undaunted.
"Sure," Casey said motioning toward the female sergeant. As the woman rummaged through her desk, Casey said, "Strange duck, that Jarod. I mean the guy didn't have a damn thing in his pockets. He wasn't even wearing a coat. But he talked like we'd been friends for years."
The woman handed Major Charles a photocopy of a street map, the location of the shelter on Clark Street had been circled with a blue pen.
"Thank you for your help, officers." The major said as he turned to leave.
"When you get there, ask for Rudy." Casey called after them. "Tell him I sent you."
At the Clark Street shelter, Rudy was an easy-going, soft-spoken black man with a limp. He too had seen Jarod.
"I'm real sorry, sir." Rudy drawled. "But I'm afraid that Jarod left this morning, right after breakfast. A shame too, that boy played a real fine game of chess. I'll miss him."
Ethan asked. "Did he seem upset, or angry to you?"
"Nah." Rudy scoffed. "Jarod was real polite, very helpful. He didn't have that homeless air about him." The major frowned in confusion. "When most people see a vagrant on the street, they either feel sorry for them or they feel afraid of them. That homeless air about 'cha, I call it." Rudy explained. "Jarod didn't have it."
"Do you have any idea where he may have gone?" The major asked.
"I told him to pick a coat from the donation bin." Rudy said. "He took one that was nice and warm but not very fashionable, if you know what I mean. Jarod said that he'd need to be warmer as he was headed north. I can't get any more precise than that."
Major Charles shook hands with the other man and thanked him. He could see that Ethan was disappointed at missing Jarod. But the Major had spent too many years being this close to finding his son. There had been many times when Major Charles would hear of Jarod's whereabouts only days after he had left an area. The good news was that Jarod was alive and seemed to be doing okay.
The Major and Ethan went back to the ranch to wait for the next tip on Jarod.
The next lead on Jarod came from the pretender himself. It was nearly midnight on December 22nd when the phone rang at Sydney's house. The aging psychiatrist had fallen asleep in his favorite chair, a leather bound book drooped in his lap. The jangling phone startled Sydney into wakefulness.
"Hello," Sydney said groggily.
For a long moment, there was only silence.
"Hello?" Sydney repeated in his thick accent.
"Are you going with them to the ranch, Sydney?" Jarod's voice murmured from the phone.
"Jarod!" Sydney cried. "Are you all right? We've been worried about you."
"Are you going with them?" the pretender repeated.
"Yes." His mentor answered. "I always spend the holidays with Parker and my goddaughter. We are flying out to your parent's place in the morning."
"Tell them all not to worry about me." Jarod said.
"Come home and tell them yourself, Jarod." Sydney replied gently.
"Not yet." Jarod said gruffly.
"Jarod, where are you?" Sydney asked. "Let me come and get you."
"No, Sydney." Jarod's voice took on a sad, forlorn tone. "I'm lost. I've lost the person I was, the person I had hoped to be. I need to find my own way home."
Sydney nodded in understanding. "When will you be back?"
"I don't know." Jarod answered. "Just tell them not to worry. I'll keep in touch."
Sydney heard a click followed by the dial tone as Jarod ended the phone call much the same way he had back in the days of The Centre.
Christmas day had been spent at the ranch in a strange state of expectation. Everyone hoped that Jarod would walk through the door at some point during the day. As the sky began to grow dark without an appearance by the missing pretender, hopes shifted to at least hearing from him. But the day slipped by with no word.
In mid-January Ethan received a package addressed to him at the ranch. The printed labels and postmark indicated that the parcel had been shipped from an attorney's office in Boston, Massachusetts. The box contained several documents, sighed by Jarod, giving Ethan the power to make executive decisions at Paradigm. Most issues at the corporation could be handled by vice-presidents and other executives. But there were some things that had been put aside until Jarod returned from his "holiday".
With Ethan now legally acting in his stead, Jarod had essentially removed himself from the hierarchy at Paradigm.
Weeks went by. Major Charles and his wife continued to search for their missing son. Miss Parker even called in a few favors and had Broots helping with the hunt as well. But Jarod left no trail to follow. He never withdrew funds from any of his sizeable bank accounts. There was no trace of a Jarod Sullivan matching his description anywhere. It became apparent that Jarod was using alias names again. Jarod's mother received the first red notebook late in February.
Delivered to Margaret in a Federal Express overnight package, the little book looked just like the thousands of other red notebooks Jarod had made over the years. But Margaret had never seen any of those booklets. They had been a part of his life at The Centre. They had been a part of Jarod's life that this mother had never known.
It was in a phone conversation with Parker that Margaret learned of the red book's significance.
The articles in the notebook indicated that Jarod had recently been in Maine. The first headline read, "Fisherman's family struggles through hard times." Evidently, there was a fisherman named Ted Raime living on the coast of Maine. He and his family had been barely scraping by during this difficult time of the year. When Raime had broken his leg in a rigging accident, the thin financial line he'd been treading started to give way.
The following pages in the notebook contained sketches of a quaint seaside town, dusted with snow. There were drawings of several different types of fish and coordinates were notated along the edges of the page, presumably indicating where the fish could be found.
The final piece of information in the book had been another article about Raime. He and his wife stood smiling in front of their fishing boat. The headline read, "Local Fisherman plots school movement." With an uncanny accuracy, the fisherman could now predict where to lower his nets in order to bring in the best catch. Raime was making more money on fewer trips out to sea. Even hobbling on a broken leg, he was beginning to make a profit.
Circled in red on the black and white photograph, was a fisherman in the background. He was standing on the deck of the Raime's boat, bent over a series of nets. He was dressed in fisherman's garb, oversized boots and a heavy slicker, so the viewer couldn't see his face. But the red circle was connected to an arrow that pointed to one word. Written in neat block letters it read "ME."
Ethan had been busy at Paradigm that week so only Margaret and the Major went to Maine to talk with the Raime family about their son.
"Didn't think he could do the job at first." Ted Raime told them. Jarod's parents sat at the kitchen table with Ted and his wife Wendy in their simple home near the coast. "He didn't have the hands for it. His calluses weren't in the right places to be a fisherman."
"I didn't think Jarod had ever tossed a net in his life." Wendy said with a smile as she sipped at a cup of coffee.
"But I couldn't afford not to hire him." Ted added. "I needed cheap help and all he wanted was room and board."
"How long did Jarod stay with you?" The Major asked.
"Three weeks. Just long enough to fix up that motorcycle he bought from Marcus Green's son." Ted answered. "I wish he had stayed longer. Hauling fish is hard, dirty work but Jarod did a good job."
"He said that all a man needed was to work hard, eat well and get a good night's sleep." The fisherman's wife said fondly. "Jarod loved my cooking."
"Do you have any idea where he was headed when he left?" Margaret asked the woman desperately.
"He said that he was going to see an old friend but he didn't say who or where." Wendy said.
"Thank you both for your time." The Major said as he and Margaret prepared to leave.
"Thank you." Ted said. "Your son did a lot for me and mine. When you see him again, you tell him I said so."
On the flight home, Charles and Margaret started making a list of all Jarod's friends. Once they got back to the ranch, they called Parker and Syd and asked them for more names. By the time they had finished, there was an extensive list of people to track down and call in search of Jarod.
It took two weeks for Margaret and Emily to work through the list. They asked everyone that they contacted if they had seen Jarod. No one had. Each person was thanked and then given a message to forward to Jarod if they saw him in the future.
Who ever Jarod had gone to see, he or she was not on the list of friends that Jarod's family knew.
It was a warm spring day early in April when Emily answered the door at the ranch to find a scraggly looking character standing on the porch.
"Hey there, Doll." The man said.
"May I help you?" Emily asked defensively. She was wary of this stranger. He had oily brown hair and two or three days worth of beard on his chin. In the yard behind him, Emily could see a large bright blue motorcycle. Painted on the gas tank was a strange symbol and the words "Skint Rabbit".
"Yea," the man said shifting nervously. "Is this the Sullivan ranch? I'm looking for a guy called Major Charles."
"He's my father." Emily said. "What do you want?"
"My name is Huey. I sold Jarod my bike. He told me to give this to the Major," The man held up a white envelope. "And I'd get my money."
"Dad!" Emily yelled into the house.
The Major appeared beside her within moments.
"This is Huey." Emily told her father. "He says that Jarod sent him."
Major Charles frowned. "You know my son?" he asked.
"Yea, man." Huey answered with a smile. "We go way back. I've known J, for what, like eight years or somethin'. We met at the Vista House during my first term."
"Vista House?" the Major pried.
"Rehab." Huey said raking a hand through his tangled hair. "Took me three tries to get it to stick but I've been clean for four years now."
"You met Jarod in a drug rehabilitation center?" the older man asked in disbelief.
"Yep." Huey said with a grin. "But I'm not sure that Jarod was actually there for rehab. He busted this doctor who was framing one of his patients. Got her all stoned so's she would lose custody of her kid."
"Jarod wasn't an addict was he?" Emily interrupted.
Huey laughed. "J was an addict all right. He knows way too much about the hurtin' to not have been an addict once. But I don't think he was strung out when I met him is what I mean."
Major Charles frowned with concern as he took the envelope Huey offered him. The Major opened the seal and found a letter inside, neatly printed in Jarod's handwriting.
"Dad," the letter said. "This is my friend Huey. He has sold me his Harley. I promised him fifty grand for it. I know that the price is a little steep but he put a lot of work into that bike and Huey needs the money. He'll need a bus ticket back to Scottsdale, AZ as well. Thanks."
The note was signed simply. "J"
"Let's go inside shall we?" the Major said after reading the letter. "Tell me, Huey. How long did Jarod visit with you?"
Huey looked around in amazement, as the group walked into the house. "Oh. A week or so I guess. We tooled around on our bikes. Listened to some righteous tunes. We talked about stuff."
"What stuff?" Charles asked inquisitively.
Huey shrugged. "About the reaper mostly." At the major's confused look, Huey explained further. "The addiction to smack, man. Jarod wondered why we beat ourselves up with the stuff. Why do we torture our souls by using even after it stops offering any enjoyment?"
"What did you tell him?" The major asked.
Huey shrugged again. "I think sometimes we get so disappointed in ourselves, so damned miserable in our own skins that we feel maybe we deserve the pain, you know what I mean?"
"Do you know where Jarod is now?" Emily interrupted.
Huey smiled. "He told me you'd ask." He chuckled. "He wanted me to tell you not to worry about him."
"He's been gone for a long time." Emily whispered.
"He's doing okay." Huey reassured her. "He's clean and sober and he seems fit enough."
The Major sighed. "Come on into the study, Huey and I'll write you a check."
The strange man stayed for the night and the major put him on a bus back to Arizona the next morning.
Jarod became pretty consistent about making some kind of contact with his family on a semi-regular basis. In May, he left a message for his daughter on Parker's answering machine.
Parker and little Sydney had just returned from the girl's first dance recital. Parker and Syd had proudly sat in the audience while the youngster pirouetted on stage with a dozen other children. Syd had patiently stood with the crowd of fathers and recorded the entire program on a camcorder so that the little girl could send it to her grandparents.
When they returned home, afterward, Parker juggled a bag of groceries with one hand as she talked to her daughter while trying to unlock her front door with the other.
"Momma," Sydney asked. "Can I wear my costume to school tomorrow?"
Parker smiled indulgently at her daughter. The dancers had each dressed in different colors of the rainbow. Sydney's outfit was a deep emerald green silk leotard with green gauze wings. The little girl absolutely adored the costume.
"I don't think it would hold up to a full day at school, dear." Parker said.
Sydney shrugged dejectedly as the two entered the house. Parker dropped her keys on the end table and headed toward the kitchen to put a few things in the refrigerator. As she passed the answering machine, Parker hit the play button in response to the flashing message light.
"Hello, Kitten." Jarod's voice rose from the recording, startling Parker so badly, she nearly dropped her groceries.
"You dance wonderfully." Jarod said. "You sure look pretty in green. You should wear it more often. Do me a favor and tell your grandmother that I called."
The message ended with a click.
Sydney hopped up and down in excitement. "Daddy was there! He saw me dancing!" The girl clapped her hands with joy. "Did you hear, Momma? He said I looked pretty. Did you hear?"
Parker patted her daughter's head affectionately. "Yes, baby. I heard him."
Sydney rewound the tape to listen to Jarod's message again while Parker went into the kitchen. While Parker put items on their proper shelves, she wracked her brain trying to remember if she may have seen Jarod at the recital. He had obviously been there. Why hadn't Parker seen him?
Granted, there were a lot of other parents in the building and Parker hadn't really been looking for anything unusual. Jarod could have been standing at the back of the theatre the entire time and Parker would never have seen him.
The idea that Jarod was lurking around town gave Parker a weird conflicted feeling. She was glad to know that he was nearby, but knowing that Jarod could be outside right now watching the house made Parker uneasy.
Parker went from room to room turning on every light in house. If Jarod was watching, she wanted him to know that she knew he was there.
In a rented car parked at the corner, Jarod smiled at the warm glowing light coming from Parker's house. He slid his cell phone back into his pocket, crossed his arms and settled back to watch the shadows that crossed the windows of the house. Jarod sat in the parked car for nearly an hour before he started the engine and drove off into the night.
On the morning of her birthday in July, little Sydney woke up to find a beautifully wrapped birthday present sitting on the desk in her bedroom. Grinning with excitement, the girl bounced across the room and plucked the card from the top of the package. Neat block letters had been printed in the card with multi-colored magic markers.
The brief note read, "Happy Birthday Kitten."
The child's squeal of delight brought her mother to the room. By the time Parker opened the door, Sydney was tearing away the silver wrapping paper and lifting her gift from the box. It was a doll. Made of plush soft fabrics, the huggable doll had huge brown painted eyes. It had a deep green colored dress and fairy wings made of silk.
"Isn't she wonderful, Momma?" Sydney had gasped.
Parker nodded. As Sydney handed the doll to her, Parker sank in surprise into the soft, well-worn rocking chair near her daughter's bed. Parker caressed the silken wings and fingered the soft brown yarn of the doll's hair. When she silently handed the tiny fairy back to her daughter, Parker couldn't help but smile at the radiant look on the child's face.
Sydney was hugging the doll close when Parker suddenly realized, the cushions on the rocking chair in which she sat, were warm. Someone had been sitting here not long ago. Parker turned in her seat to stare meaningfully at the chair.
The chair itself was more than six years old. It had been a gift from Syd while Parker was pregnant. Many a night had been spent rocking her daughter to sleep in this rocker. A soft afghan was folded across the back of the chair. The blanket was normally used to wrap Parker and her daughter together in a warm cocoon while they read stories together on cold nights. Knowing what she would find before she searched for it, Parker took the quilt in one hand and lifted it to her face. She inhaled a tantalizingly spicy-sweet scent that she instantly recognized.
Jarod had been here. Until a short time ago, he had been sitting in this chair, probably watching Sydney sleep. Parker guessed that it was more than likely he had been there for most of the night.
Parker stood and walked to the window. Pulling back the curtain, she gazed into the early summer morning. She saw no one. But she knew that he was there. Jarod had come inside her house last night. But rather than feeling irritated or uneasy about her intruder, Parker felt an odd sense of anticipation.
Little by little, step by step, Jarod was coming back. The pretender who had left gifts and small clues of his presence to annoy Miss Parker, was on his way back.
Parker smiled. "You'll have to call your grandmother later and tell her about your doll." She said as she led Sydney to the kitchen for breakfast.
"This is going to be a good birthday, Momma."
Of the many presents Sydney received that day, none was quite as special as the fairy doll dressed in green. The stuffed toy, christened as Belinda by her owner, was never far from young Sydney's side. The girl would take the doll everywhere her mother would allow. As dainty as the little fairy may have looked, she was surprisingly resilient and she was machine washable.
August turned hot and dry. By the end of the month, forest fires were burning across the state less than one hundred miles north of the ranch. Margaret, Charles and Jack were watching newscasts about the fires one night. They had friends further north whose home was along the projected burn path.
"I wish Eric and Carol would take us up on the offer to stay here until the danger passes." Margaret fretted.
The Major clasped her hand in his. "If the authorities order them to evacuate, I'm sure that they will come." He reassured her.
"Mom!" Jack exclaimed suddenly, pointing at the television. "Well, I'll be damned."
A news reporter was speaking seriously into a microphone, discussing estimated damage and potential hazards with one of the men in charge of the fire fighting efforts. Behind them, there was a temporary structure where tired soot covered men and women were resting, eating or drinking from Styrofoam cups. Gray smoke drifted across the scene in curling tendrils.
Sitting on a bench beside a table full of cups and jugs of water, was Jarod. Dressed like all the other firemen, he was covered in ashy dust and black soot streaked his sweaty face. He looked bone tired as he shoveled food into his mouth from a paper plate.
The reporter had moved from the man in charge and was now interviewing other personnel as they walked by the camera. Jarod had finished his meal and was pouring himself another glass of water when the reporter startled him.
"And what is your name, sir?" The reporter asked.
Jarod blinked at the camera in surprise. "Jarod." He mumbled.
"Where are you from Mr. Jarod?"
"Uh, Delaware." Jarod responded cautiously.
"Wow. You've come a very long way to help out with this effort." The reporter said. "What brought you across the country to volunteer for us?"
Jarod frowned. "My folks live near here."
The reporter nodded. "So you're here protecting the old homestead so to speak."
"Something like that." Jarod replied. "I have to get back to work." With that, Jarod tossed back the last of the fluid in his cup, grabbed up his gear and walked out of the camera's view.
The reporter and his cameraman moved on to interview another fire fighter.
Jack and his parents sat watching the television screen in stunned silence.
Finally, Margaret said, "We could be there in a couple of hours. We could bring him home."
The major patted her arm gently. "That whole area is off limits. The authorities wouldn't let us in there."
Margaret looked at her husband with tears swimming in her eyes. "He's so close. Why won't he come home?"
Jack stood and kissed his mother on the cheek. "He'll come home, Mom. When he is ready, Jarod will come home."
"Its just so frustrating to know that he is so close." Margaret whispered.
A month later, Ethan experienced similar aggravation about his brother.
Ethan had been in meetings all day. An important deal had just fallen through because of the whim of some spoiled debutante. So Ethan's mood was not good. His driver had been called away so Ethan now found himself standing on the city sidewalk, briefcase in one hand, and cell phone in the other while he tried to hail a cab.
Ethan's ire was reaching irregular heights when a yellow taxi miraculously appeared at the curb beside him.
Ethan ducked into the cab and barked an address at the driver. The cabbie was tall and had long brown hair that curled out from under the baseball cab he wore. Ethan paid little attention to the man as the cabbie made his way through the city traffic.
Dialing his office on his cell phone, Ethan contacted his assistant and sighed heavily. He talked animatedly with the other man about the horrendous meeting.
"I know, I know!" Ethan grimaced. He had a team of employees who had busted their butts working on this deal. And now weeks of effort were in jeopardy because some stupid socialite had gotten a bad vibe from her numerologist.
"Get Mr. Richardson on the phone." Ethan growled. "I want to talk to him the minute I get in. Maybe he can talk some sense into this granddaughter of his."
After listening to his assistant's response, Ethan cried. "I will not! I don't care what her horoscope told her, I refuse to get personally involved with that ditsy woman!"
"I know." Ethan said with a sigh. "I'm sorry." He added more calmly. "I shouldn't take my anger out on you, Jeff. That woman just seems to bring out the worst in me."
After a pause, Ethan frowned. "That is not funny, Jeff. Listen, see what you can do about getting hold of Richardson, I'm almost there. We'll talk in a few minutes."
With that, Ethan ended the phone call and tossed his cell phone into his briefcase in irritation. As the cab pulled to a stop in front of the Paradigm building, Ethan reached into his jacket and pulled some bills from his pocket.
Tossing the money into the front seat Ethan said gruffly, "Keep the change."
Stepping out of the car and onto the sidewalk, Ethan heard the cabdriver speak for the first time.
"Nice tip, bro." The deep soft voice purred. "Now I've got one for you."
Ethan stared open mouthed at the cabbie.
Jarod pushed the brim of the baseball cap up, revealing his face. "Don't work so hard. It's only money." Jarod grinned. "And it sounds like your ditsy friend is just what the doctor ordered."
With a suggestive wink, Jarod put the taxi in gear and drove away, leaving his little brother staring after him in shock.
End Part 7