She stands firm against the warring emotions threatening to cripple her. Her coping methods, established long ago, are failing her. She stares straight ahead, ignoring the barely veiled matching frowns being thrown at her by her twin and their supposed biological father. She's overcome by the ever-present nausea flair up, bile rising to the back of her throat.
She inhales as she squares her shoulders. Wind whips around her, while the clouds above threaten to let rip at any moment. She'd welcome the rain; she survived the devil's storm; she'll survive a light shower. She refuses to look at the open grave or the empty coffin being lowered into it to lie beside her mother's coffin. Another empty coffin.
The symbolism is laying it on a little thick. She scowls at the headstone.
She barely holds back a scoff at her own thoughts.
She still has hours till she can retreat to her house and begin to process recent events privately. The Centre is hosting a wake for their fallen chairman before Raines officially takes over. The wheezing ghoul had already moved into her father's-correction-Mr Parkers' office before anyone could appoint him.
The priest wraps up his final words before the crowd disperses. None of Mr Parker's associates attempts to meet her eye. They shake hands with Lyle and Raines before offering her nonsense words without making eye contact. They file into the waiting black town cars lining the central path of the cemetery. The motorcade was an unusual display for the quieter, suburban part of Blue Cove, even for a funeral procession, yet she doubts it'll draw unwanted attention from the locals except to set tongues wagging about the imposing building in the bay.
She doesn't need to look at the men, her team, behind her as she waits for the last of the suits to vacate the burial ground, leaving two town cars at the curb. Raines shoots her a look, part to remind her she's expected at the wake, part daring her to defy him as he sets off towards one, his oxygen tank struggling with the dewy grass. Even though she refuses to buy into his phoney compassion, Lyle is a tad less smug than usual as he turns to her.
"Don't be late," he warns her, throwing a look at Sydney over her shoulder. She raises an eyebrow at his audacity to think Sydney will have any say or sway in how she acts. Sydney knows better. Parker senses him and Broots move a discreet distance away. Lyle huffs in frustration, a mere crack in the psychopath's polished veneer.
"Look, as much as this pains me to say it," Lyle starts, lowering his voice so he is addressing only her. "I was looking forward to this challenge, competition, whatever you want to call it, that Raines has given us. You're fierce competition; I've got to admit, you keep me on my toes; it keeps things interesting."
He sighs when she only responds by picking at her nail. Lyle steps into her personal space, only stopping when she pins him with a steely glare. He cocks his head at her, a smirk starting to form at the corner of his mouth. He has her attention.
"Only, you seem dead-set on giving me an unfair advantage by antagonising Raines the way you have been. Don't make the same mistake today, not in front of the Triumvirate. Don't give them a reason to get rid of you," Lyle warns her with a hiss. "Get your god-damned head in the game, Parker, instead of losing it."
Lyle turns on his heel, striding to the car Raines got into. He pulls the door closed with a force that rings out through the cemetery.
Parker silently seethes over Lyle's brotherly advice as her team, Sydney, Broots and Sam, men more loyal than any in her own family, fall in behind her, flanking her as she leads the way to the remaining town car. Her motley crew don't say a word as they file into the vehicle, with Sam climbing in beside the driver.
Their car catches up to the rest of the procession quickly enough. Passing through the cemetery gates, she allows herself to exhale. Like Jarod once told her, she spends too much time in cemeteries. She'd never admit he's right, not to his face anyway.
Sydney sits beside her, stoically protective. Syd's been hovering for days and she's been waiting for him to corner her. She wonders if he's heard from Jarod as he's only mentioned the Boy Wonder in relation to the search since they returned from Scotland nearly two weeks ago; he hasn't pestered her about Jarod's state of mind or what happened as he normally does.
Looking between the car's other occupants, Parker settles back in resignation. They don't deserve to suffer her mood, though she doubts they'd call her on it on the day she buries her father. They still have to get through the wake.
The silence doesn't stop her mind from going a mile a minute. Mulling over the events of the last few weeks; Carthis, her father dying, Raines' revelation, Jarod's offer of an alliance, dalliance, or whatever he had romanticised in his head about their time together on the island and her subsequent rejection. The culmination of sleepless nights, fraying her ever-decreasing grip on her life and tolerance levels.
Part of her hates that Lyle is right. Not about that damned threat Raines issued them with. No, he can burn in hell. She will never be his successor. Like, Lyle said, she makes this interesting for the old wheeze bag. It wouldn't be as much fun if it were just Lyle and Jarod ripping each other to pieces. Her need, obsession, for answers is one of her few reasons for staying. Sydney, Broots, Debbie, Angelo and Sam are the others.
Like her mood, her team don't need to suffer the consequences of her actions. Raines could use any one of them against her if he takes issue with her attitude towards him. He hasn't though; in fact, she thinks he secretly likes the fact that she has the balls to openly despise him, unwilling to yield, unlike so many others. As Lyle said, she makes this interesting.
Her eyes flick over to Broots when he starts fidgeting. He startles easily as he realises, she's focused on him. Her lips quirk slightly; his predictability and nervousness have been the few things she's learnt she can count on; she finds his skittish behaviour oddly comforting and endearing. Not that she'd ever admit it. "Reign it in Broots, we still have the wake," she reminds him without her usual bite.
She almost snickers when his hands jam under his knees, between him and his seat. Good ol' Broots.
"I hear Raines is arranging for your baby brother to attend," Sydney presses after a long pause.
"Parading him around in front of the Triumvirate as though he's some trophy," Miss Parker quips with a frown.
The boy, Adam, hasn't known anything other than The Centre's walls since the day he was born. He's no better off than Jarod or Angelo had been. The stark comparison has been troubling her for a while; she has limited knowledge of toddlers, yet she knows he's bright. At almost three, he can string sentences together despite being punctuated with his slight baby lisp. He's a sweet boy though, she always smiles when she sees him. For the life of her, she has no idea why he's so happy to see her when she goes to visit. Usually, all she does is read to him.
"He doesn't understand what's going on," she admits.
When she told the little boy their father wasn't going to be coming back, he didn't really seem to understand the connection he should have with the man she was talking about. At that moment, she realised Mr Parker never spent any time with the boy, not to the degree a father should. Even then, their interactions were like he was overseeing a project rather than his son.
"A wake isn't a place for a little kid," Broots shakes his head.
"The Centre isn't a place for a little kid," Parker concurs, reminding them all of who they work for.
A heavy silence falls over them as they travel towards the place itself.