Disclaimer: The Pretender doesn't belong to me. I've stolen these characters for purely selfish reasons. I feel no remorse and therefore will not apologize. I am not making a dime on this endeavor so it does no one any good to sue me for it anyway.
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Burden of Truth pt10By Phenyx
09/06/2005
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Miss Parker was asleep. Weariness had taken its toll. Alone, in the safety of her own bed, she had finally surrendered to the exhaustion and drifted into slumber. And yet, some part of her mind was still waiting, hovering expectantly at the blurred edges of consciousness.
As a result, when the phone rang shortly before four in the morning, Miss Parker snapped into wakefulness. She was alert and snatching the receiver from its cradle before the first jangling tone had finished. "What?" she growled.
"Do you think your father loved you?" Jarod asked without preamble.
Parker sat up and leaned her back against the headboard.
"And I'm not talking about Raines," Jarod added.
"I know who you meant," Parker said.
"Do you think he loved you?" Jarod repeated.
Running her hand through her hair, Miss Parker sighed. After a long pause she answered, "I choose to believe that he did. Yes."
"Why?"
"Why did he love me?" Parker asked.
"Don't pretend to be obtuse, Miss Parker. It doesn't suit you." Jarod snapped back in irritation.
Parker smiled. "My, aren't we a little cranky tonight?"
"My side hurts," Jarod complained. "And Tylenol just isn't going to cut it."
"Don't whine, Monkey-boy. It doesn't suit you."
"Why do you believe he loved you, Miss Parker?" Jarod asked again.
Parker shrugged. Then, realizing that Jarod couldn't see the action she replied, "Because I loved him."
"Do you think that makes any difference?"
Miss Parker closed her eyes and sighed. She could hear the underlying question Jarod wouldn't ask. She could feel the need for reassurance in the tone of his voice. "Perhaps," she said.
"But unconditional love is such a powerful thing," Jarod went on. "Can a child's need for love become so desperate that he loves what isn't there?"
"Jarod." Miss Parker's voice held resignation, disapproval and concern in equal measure.
Hundreds of miles away, Jarod shook his head. With a sigh, he leaned his forehead against the window. Rain pelted the glass, running in rivulets across his vision. Jarod didn't see the paved lot outside. He ignored the other cars that pulled in and out of the toll road's rest area. He was sore and tired and felt very alone.
"Every child deserves to be loved," Miss Parker said. Her tone was so low it barely amounted to a whisper. Yet Jarod could feel the soft voice drift over him like a caress.
"Even you?" he asked.
"Even you," she agreed.
There was another long pause between them.
"Are you angry with him?" Jarod pried.
"Yes," was the reply. Miss Parker did not need Jarod to tell her that their subject had changed. She followed the pretender's train of thought as easily as if there had been billboards posted to guide her. "Angry, disappointed, hurt. Those words sum it up rather well."
"Words," Jarod sighed. "Words seem so empty." He shifted in the seat as he tried to stretch his injured leg within the confines of the car. "'I'm sorry' feels so insignificant. The phrase heals about as well as these Tylenol. It's no more than a temporary veil over the pain."
"Sorrow heals nothing," Parker answered. "It is forgiveness that holds the power to soothe."
Jarod's breath caught in his throat. He was stunned at the simple compassion in Parker's comment.
"A friend told me that once," she continued. "A long time ago. I didn't understand it at the time."
"A friend," Jarod echoed. He leaned his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. "You are very lucky, Miss Parker, to have such a caring friend."
"I know."
"I envy you," Jarod told her.
"Jarod," Miss Parker's voice regained its scolding edge. "You mean more to him than anything. You know that."
"I am his life's work."
"No Jarod," Miss Parker said. "You are his life."
Gripping the steering wheel in front of him, Jarod struggled with his emotions. Tears threatened and his shoulders shook with the effort to keep them at bay. "I want…" he gasped. "I want to hate him for what he has done to me. I want to despise him for my family's sake."
"No you don't," Parker scoffed. "You won't. You can't. He means too much to you."
"I hate that I was manipulated into caring for him," Jarod snarled, suddenly angry.
"We both detest the sick game we find ourselves caught up in," Miss Parker agreed. "But we still care for those who trapped us here. You can't make yourself blame him any more than I can blame my father or my mother."
Jarod released his grip on the steering wheel and pressed the heel of his hand against his eye. "I'm so damned angry," he said with a grimace.
"Rage is a wonderful tool," Miss Parker said. "It has always worked for me. Rip the head off a doll, kick a puppy or two, it's very liberating."
Abrupt laughter bubbled out of Jarod. Miss Parker had surprised him. The woman's sense of humor was a dark one, always had been. But Jarod found her wry remarks to be very comforting.
A rush of warmth flowed through him. As dangerous and tenacious as his huntress was, Jarod still blessed whatever fates had brought Miss Parker into his life. She understood him like no one else could. Her voice reached out to him through the darkness and reminded him that he wasn't alone.
Jarod had to bite his tongue to keep himself from voicing his feelings. He knew Miss Parker would reject any open affection just as she had after Carthis. He would need to find another way to convey the message.
"Torturing puppies just isn't my style," Jarod said with a smile.
"No," Miss Parker admitted. "That's what you have me for."
"Everyone needs a hobby, Miss Parker," Jarod teased.
"Try coin collecting," she answered. "Less dangerous."
"But no where near as fun." Jarod disconnected the call and sat for a moment in the darkened car. He smiled dreamily at the cell phone in his hand. He pondered for a full minute before his thoughts found the right way to tell Parker what he wanted to say.
Jarod would send Miss Parker a message with another of his gifts. It would be a gift that held meaning only for the two of them. She would understand it. She would know what he was truly trying to tell her.
His decision made, Jarod set the phone aside and started the car. He buckled his seatbelt and backed carefully out of the parking space. Only when the vehicle was back on the highway did Jarod retrieve the phone and dial another number. This time it rang twice before being answered.
"Jarod?" the accented voice asked.
"You know me too well," Jarod replied after a brief pause.
"No one else calls at this hour."
There was a long awkward silence over the line.
"Jarod," the older man began.
"I learned something tonight," Jarod interrupted. "I had always thought that the truth would change my world. But now I know that some truths don't alter anything."
"Jarod…"
"Sydney. I can't change the way I feel," Jarod interrupted his mentor again. "The way I've always felt. A rose by any other name, you know."
"Yes," Sydney's voice softened with tenderness. "You may call me Jacob if you feel it would be more honest."
"No. I know only Sydney," Jarod said sadly. "It was Sydney who raised me, taught me to be who I am. There is only one other name I have ever wanted to call you. But it is a name only Nicholas has the right to use."
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Miss Parker closed her front door with the toe of her shoe. She tossed her car keys onto a low table and dumped the mail on top of them. With a sigh she unbuttoned her suit jacket and headed into the livingroom for a drink.
It had been one week since her ordeal with Ravenhurst. In that time she had learned a great deal about the man who had kidnapped and tried to kill her. Ravenhurst had been a dangerous man, a rival to the Parker family. He had challenged Miss Parker's father repeatedly and had, in the end, paid the price. Nothing that she had learned about the man showed him to have any redeeming qualities.
Miss Parker chose not to think about Ravenhurst's dead wife and child.
Dealing with the truth regarding Sydney and his past had turned out to be remarkably easy. Miss Parker simply ignored it. She and Sydney behaved as though nothing had happened. Even Lyle, still wary of the threats Miss Parker had made, refused to mention anything about that day.
With her glass of scotch in one hand, Miss Parker kicked off her shoes and turned toward the couch. She frowned for a moment at the large white box that rested on the middle cushion. The box was wider than it was tall, not wrapped except for the white silk ribbon crisscrossing the top.
Miss Parker sat next to the box and gracefully tucked her feet beneath her. Sipping at her drink, she briefly considered not opening the package. But it was a fleeting thought. Her curiosity would no doubt be her undoing one day. And Jarod knew it. She could no more avoid opening the gift than she could quit breathing.
With a sigh, Miss Parker set her glass on the end table and pulled the box onto her lap. It took one tug at the perfect bow to unravel the knot. Pushing aside the top flap of the box, Miss Parker found the note lying face up on top of a layer of white crepe paper.
"So you won't have to ask next time," the handwritten print read.
Beneath the paper, there was a dark leather jacket. Miss Parker recognized the slightly worn coat for she had last seen it barely a week ago. It was Jarod's. It was the same coat he had tossed over Parker in order to keep her warm.
Smiling to herself, Miss Parker caressed the collar with her fingertips. As she lifted the leather from its wrap, a smaller box tumbled from within the folds of the jacket. This box, about the size of a hardcover novel, was wrapped with a white ribbon identical to the larger one. A plain white card was tucked under the ribbon.
Miss Parker read the card. "So I won't have to ask next time."
Upon opening the box, Parker had to laugh. "He can't be serious," she grinned with delight. The silk stockings were exquisite, obviously expensive. They were black, thigh high and as light as feathers. There was even a matching garter belt to hold them in place.
With a devilish gleam in her eyes, Miss Parker leaned over and proceeded to pull the stockings onto her feet. She had chosen not to wear nylons this morning and the skirt she had on would match her gift quite well. It wasn't until she was straightening the elastic along her inner thigh that she wondered if Jarod might be watching her.
As Miss Parker admired her silk wrapped toes, she retrieved her drink and took a long sip. With a sigh she covered herself with the jacket and tucked it under her chin like a blanket. She leaned her head back and closed her eyes.
"Until next time, Pez-head," she murmured to empty room.
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The End.