A Pretender fanfic
by Maggy
R/R e-mail: maggysfic AT aol DOT com Please do not archive without permission
CHAPTER 3:
Freefall
Somehow, she made her way back home again. In the middle of her third glass of Scotch she drifted off, not to dreams, or nightmares, but something much, much worse: memories.
Suddenly she was back at the top of the cliff in Acapulco, where they had, literally and on foot, chased Jarod. He had been taken completely by surprise when they showed up during his shift behind The Cliffside Bar. Of course, he'd run for his life. They both knew the steps to the dance.
It was Parker's turn for complete surprise, though, when Raines showed up with a sweeper team, led by his favorite lapdog, Willie. Lyle had been conspicuously absent.
She and Sam had run headlong after Jarod, with Sydney and Broots stumbling behind and the other sweeper team running a close third. Willie and Raines's two sweepers had drawn their guns, and she remembered worrying about someone getting shot in the chaos.
All at once, about fifty feet in front of her, Jarod had stopped moving. He'd run out of ground, and the water was fifty feet below him. She grinned, and halted, aiming her gun carefully.
"It's over, Jarod," she said, raising her voice to be heard over the wind. "No more running, no more chasing."
"Are you sure this is the ending you want, Miss Parker?" he'd said. She saw his eyes dart to look behind him, at the cliff.
"Never been more sure of anything, Jar--"
Without warning, feet thudded behind her, and a heavy weight pounded into her. As she lost her footing, she felt her hand clench convulsively. Thunder roared in her ears, but her gaze sought Jarod's. She saw his dark brown eyes widen in shock--
and then he was gone."JAROD!" she heard herself scream, but she couldn't move. He'd jerked, once, and then-- just disappeared. He couldn't have-- "Jarod?" she whispered helplessly.
"Jarod!" Her cry was echoed by Sydney, who rushed past her, kicking off his shoes ino order to dive into the water far below. Somehow Sam and Broots managed to restrain him, the former by clutching his arms and the latter by grabbing hold of his belt from behind. Still Parker could not move.
"No!" Sydney was protesting. "Let me go-- he--"
"He's gone, Syd," Broots murmured.
All at once, someone released her arm, and she turned to meet Willie's inscrutable gaze.
"You-- bastard! Get a team down there, NOW!" she roared. Her voice was the only part of her that seemed to be working properly. Everything else -- her legs, her arms-- felt frozen.
Then Sydney turned his lined and anguished face to her. "You shot him, Parker. You've killed Jarod."
"I didn't--" She stopped. To say "I didn't mean to" sounded weak, even to herself. To say "Willie pushed me" sounded even worse. "Yeah, well, let's make sure he's dead before we start passing out the black armbands." The cruel rejoinder came to her lips out of habit, but Sydney's eyes clouded. He walked away from her, shaking his head.
Broots hovered between her and Sydney, clearly unsure of where his responsibilities lay. "Miss Parker, what--"
"Go with Sydney, Broots. Keep him out of the water, and let me know if they find... anything... down there." Her voice caught, and she swallowed hard against the volcanic pain in her stomach. Forcing a smile to her unwilling lips, she nodded as if she were satisfied. "Well, that's it, then. Daddy will be so pleased."
"Daddy?" Broots mumbled, as he hurried away.
It was then that she caught herself, realizing the error she'd made. Well, if it distracted Broots, it was worth it, she thought. If only she could find something to distract herself... or better yet, wake her from the nightmare. The grass beneath her booted feet began to move in strange surging waves towards her face, and she inhaled deeply.
A hand grasped her arm, bringing her back to herself.
"I've got the car ready. Do you want to go down there, Miss P?" It was Sam beside her now.
"No, Sam. They'll let me know if--" Her throat closed, preventing further speech.
At the car, he paused in opening the door for her.
"I saw it, Miss P. He pushed against you. And he grabbed on so
you couldn't move."
She raised startled eyes to the sweeper's, and he continued. "I was watching you, like I always do. He did it on purpose. Those rumors about Raines wanting Jarod dead must have been true. I just didn't expect--"
"Well, he got his wish," she interrupted. "Take me to the airport. I want to get back to the Centre and start packing up my office. With Jarod gone, this nightmare is finally over."
To her surprise, Sam patted her shoulder awkwardly before closing the door. "Anything you say, Miss P."
She managed to keep it together until she got into the back seat of the limo, and raised the privacy barrier between them. It was then that she realized she was till holding the gun, unholstered, with the safety off. By reflex, she snapped the lock in place, but instead of putting it away, she found herself staring at the weapon. Slowly, she turned it over in her cold hands. The force of the explosion had been so great that it was still warm. How odd that she'd never noticed the heat before, she thought, before sliding it into its holster.
Not until she'd buckled herself into a seat at the very back of the jet, far from Broots's accusing silence, did the day's events begin to penetrate her shock.
It was finally over.
The reality knifed her as no sword or scalpel could have done.
She had shot Jarod. And she had killed him.
As the plane taxied toward take-off, Miss Parker closed her burning eyes and pretended to sleep.
Somehow, it was worse than when Tommy had been murdered.
After she'd found him dead on her porch, she'd been in shock. She'd
moved around, done what she was supposed to do, played the ultimate Pretend.
But, when she began to recover, she had had a suspect to hate, a mystery
to solve. Jarod had seen to that, prodding every step of the way, helping
to channel her desperate anger. When she'd learned it had been Bridget
who had murdered Tommy, her rage had nearly blinded her--
--Jarod had kept her focused. He'd given her leads,
kept her on track, prevented her from making irrecoverable mistakes.
And now he was gone. It was over. Her life was her own, to do with as she pleased. No more sweet, snivelling Broots sneaking his bike into her office every morning. No more hesitant, helpless Sydney hovering between Freud and father to Jarod.
No more wild goose chases to cornfields in Kansas, trans-continental container truck rides with Lyle, trumped up arrests, strip searches, cockroach traps, or bouts of the flu...
... No more surprise posthumous surprise gifts from her mother, elusive clues about her past, poignant reminiscences about shared childhood...... No more soft bunnies, perfumed roses, romance novels, or Valentine candies...
Almost, she felt the onset of tears, but they turned gritty
behind her eyelids, and refused to fall. Crying would change nothing.
Crying hadn't brought her mother back, hadn't brought Faith back, hadn't
brought Tommy back, hadn't brought her father back. But during all
those terrible times in her life, she had had Jarod to cry with. She
could not cry now.