Enough
Part Two
He picked up his phone, his thumb hovering over the keypad. She was in her room, alone. He knew that because he had watched her for most of the night, had seen her enter her room. And because he was currently occupying the room next to hers. Risky? Yes. Stupid? Most probably. But he wouldn't be anywhere else right then; with the possible exception of her room of course but she would never permit that. He let the phone slip out of his hand and onto the large bed he was currently sprawled on. He closed his eyes and let his mind take him somewhere else, a place in his not so long ago memories where he liked to dwell.
But it wasn't enough. It was never enough. And trying to ignore what had happened - almost happened - hadn't helped either; it had just made his feelings all the more obvious. As a pretender he supposed he could live the rest of his life in denial, carry on the charade of a normal life, but as a man that option seemed... Impossible. Unimaginable. Undesirable.
He couldn't talk to his father about it; he wasn't sure how the old man would take the news and trying to tell him without mentioning the other party involved seemed dishonest in a way. Nor could he talk to Sydney; he feared his mentor's reply wouldn't be what he wanted to hear. Plus, if anyone at the Centre knew just how deep his feelings ran they would only use it, and use her, against him. And then there was her. What convinced him that she, in some way, reciprocated was her actions; though she refused to admit to how close they'd come on that island, neither was she using it against him. That was enough for him, enough to try again.
Opening his eyes he picked up the phone again and this time managed to press the button. He propped himself up on his free arm and stared at the wall that divided them. It rang and rang. He rose slowly from the bed, his eyes never leaving the same small square of wall. He silently urged her to pick the phone up, wondering if he'd been wrong to lure her here.
Maybe he should have done things differently, not acted so impulsively. But that was a freedom he'd long been denied. He'd arrived in the town a week ago, drawn to it by a headline he'd read on an abandoned newspaper at a bus depot. He hadn't been sure why at the time but he'd felt compelled to dig further into the murder of that young girl whose picture had smiled out at him; sometimes he just fell into his pretends. He'd ingratiated himself onto the investigation without any problems, but the enquiry had hit him hard.
"What?"
He smiled to himself despite the tone of her voice. "It's me," he whispered softly into the phone. Her voice only made his conviction stronger, just as watching her at dinner with Sydney had. She didn't make any attempt to respond and he figured she had been expecting his call. He always felt she was more intuitive than she let on. She had left the restaurant very abruptly and, though he hadn't been able to hear what she and Sydney were discussing, the notebook and its contents had obviously played a part. "I'm sorry I missed you today, Miss Parker," he tried quietly, his eyes still firmly on one wall of the room.
Again there was silence. She wasn't giving anything anyway and she seemed reluctant to play their usual game. Maybe that meant... He stopped himself from assuming further on the matter. There was only one person he found very difficult to predict and that was his huntress. She rarely acted on her feelings the way most people would - nine times out of ten she would ignore them. If only he could predict that one time when she did, like on that island. Like he hoped she would now.
"Did you read the notebook," he asked, a little redundantly as he knew she had. What else had she been doing for the past hour, apart from hitting the bottle? In the silence of his room he heard the long breath she took before replying and it made his stomach flip.
"A little light reading before bedtime - murder, tragedy, just another day working for the Centre."
His smile faded to nothingness. She was avoiding the point, the whole reason he had led her here. And making her position very clear; that was where she stood, in the shadow of that place. He had half hoped that she would come on her own having sent the relevant details to her address rather than the Centre, but Sydney and Broots had tagged along. It was a message he felt sure, that she wasn't going to risk being alone with him again. "Did you find it familiar?"
"I'm sure Shakespeare owns the rights. If he doesn't Hollywood soon will."
"I was thinking of something a little closer to home," he whispered, pushing past her glib reply. He could hear what he thought sounded like pages in a book being turned over. She had the notebook with her. He briefly wondered which page she was on, which part of the story she had been drawn to because, despite her protestations, she wasn't a cold woman. It would have got to her just as it had with himself. On reading the initial reports and witness statements he'd been slightly perplexed, just as the sheriff had been. The young victim had no enemies, was doing well at school and had a bright future ahead of her. She was well liked by everyone. The only person he'd found slightly off had been the girl's father; he had been gruff and standoffish, with both Jarod and the sheriff.
"I know," she said softly into his ear.
He smiled weakly; she'd gotten the point. It was all laid out for her in the notebook. "I thought the father was guilty," he admitted. Further questioning of the locals had confirmed his suspicions of the father's character but there was nothing to link the man to his daughter's death. It was only an off hand remark by the sheriff that had led Jarod to the boyfriend. And the truth behind the girl's death. The boy had broken down and admitted everything just a few nights ago. He'd confronted his ex girlfriend, begged to know why she had ended their relationship. They'd argued, it had got heated and she shoved him away. In a moment of anger he'd pushed her back and she'd fallen awkwardly. An accident of the worst kind. Jarod had felt a strange affinity with the boy, knowing how it felt to be rejected by the person you loved. So much so that he'd let the boy go on the basis that he would tell his parents the truth then turn himself in.
"You would Jarod."
"He made her choose," he replied, walking towards the wall. She was behind there, somewhere. Maybe sat on her bed. Maybe pacing the room. Or staring at the pages of the notebook.
"And she made her choice Jarod. She did what she thought was right."
There was a shift in their conversation, a changing of gears; they were no longer just talking about what had happened to those two kids. But he caught the discrepancy between her words and the way she said them. There was a strength behind them but they lacked any real conviction. "He loved her so much," Jarod said distractedly, "He was devastated."
"The father?"
"No," Jarod muttered quietly, "The boyfriend." Was she being deliberately obtuse? He heard her soft sigh; maybe she was just tired.
"You've been out here long enough Jarod - I don't see how this surprises you."
He shook his head sadly. He wasn't sure what he'd achieve by drawing her here, only that he'd be close to her whilst still away from the Centre. Maybe he wanted to believe she'd come alone, that she'd changed her mind, that they wouldn't end up like those kids. It was the boy's actions though that had begun this chain of events. Just hours after speaking to Jarod the boy had taken away any possibility of a trial by taking his own life. "He loved her Parker. I don't know how he could do what he did, but I can understand why he couldn't accept it was over."
"He should have just let her go, Jarod."
He swallowed hard at the lump in his throat. She was asking him to do something that he didn't think he could do, even if he wanted to. He took a few more steps forward until he was almost flush against the wall. Just under a foot of space remained, enough to press his hand flat against the wall in front of his chest. "He loved her too much to ever let her go," he whispered into the phone. She was silent for a few moments, allowing him to briefly nurse positive thoughts.
"Jarod..."
But this wasn't going to be one of 'those' times out of ten.
"Too much just isn't enough."
He closed his eyes slowly, leaning forward until his brow rested against the cool wall as well. He didn't agree with her but there was no point arguing any further tonight. He just hoped that one day he would be able to convince her that too much was more than enough.
