Mind's Eye - Part 3
The late night hours evolved into early dawn. Parker was so immersed in Black Arrow's files that she did not notice Sydney enter the lab until he was at the top of the short flight of steps leading into the lower section. She felt truly nonplussed that he was there.
"Miss Parker, you're here awfully early," he commented, descending the three steps. His accented voice held the slightest hint of surprise.
She looked at him with little energy. "Speak for yourself, Freud. What's the matter – couldn't stay away from happy mill?"
He approached her cautiously, removed his jacket and laid it across a chair. He sat down in front of her and folded his arms. "Have you been here all night?"
The lack of sleep made her sarcasm level rise. "Am I wearing the same clothes you saw me in yesterday?"
A wry smile crept upon his lips, but his face was soft and caring. His eyes gave full concentration to hers. "You've been staying here quite a few nights lately since Thomas's funeral."
Parker felt herself becoming defensive. "Yeah, so?"
He did not bow to her acidic manner. "I'm here if you want to talk, Miss Parker," he said gently.
A short laugh escaped her, and she sank back in her chair. "What's to talk about? Thomas is dead, and the Centre's cold little heart goes on beating. End of story."
"Is it?" he tested.
Her jaw became set. "For now," she said in a near growl.
"I see," he said quietly. "And what then?"
She chose her words carefully, fully aware that Centre surveillance cameras were recording their conversation. Her eyes drew up into slits. "I don't want to spoil the surprise."
Parker could have sworn Sydney was taking some form of amusement in her words. What he could never understand was the black hate that boiled within her. She would find those responsible for killing Thomas. By the time she finished exacting a proper justice, hell would seem like a vacation spot. Whoever was responsible would be begging to die.
He peered at the DSA terminal, nodding toward it. "Have you discovered a new lead on Jarod?"
"No," she answered, grateful for change in topic, "Raines gave lap boy orders to find test subjects from twenty-five years ago. Unfortunately, my dear brother is going on vacation. The task has fallen to me to find them so the sucking wind bag can see how his experiments have grown."
"Twenty-five years? That's quite a while ago. What was the project?"
"Something called 'Black Arrow'."
Sydney pondered the project name. "Yes, I seem to remember a program by that name but I can't recall the details. What was it?"
Parker turned the DSA screen back on and called up the project overview file. "Apparently, Raines was looking for children with psychic abilities. Most of them were reported to be telepathic, but there were a few he believed possessed telekinetic powers. From what I can see from the discs, he was teaching one of them how to hurl bullets with a thought."
Sydney's face showed curiosity laced with alarm. "A telekinetic assassin?"
"Precisely the stuff of Broots's comic books," she deadpanned.
"That certainly gives new meaning to the ice bullet technique," he said.
"The problem is that the files on Black Arrow are incomplete or missing. Once again, it appears someone's fingers did some walking through the archives and erased more of the Centre's dirty little secrets."
"I'll have Broots start a trace when he gets in this morning. Perhaps there are residual files hidden in other areas." He took a measured breath. "In the meantime, why don't you go home and rest? You look – "
"Like hell, I know," she snapped, cutting him off mid-sentence. "The next person who tells me that gets shot."
Sydney pulled back slightly in surprise. "I was going to say that you looked like you could use a hot bath and some breakfast, but if you prefer shooting someone, be my guest. There are plenty of targets walking around at the Centre lately. Just try to keep it out of the lab."
Parker held her forehead in her hand, feeling suddenly exhausted and sorry she bit at him. "I'm sorry, Syd," she apologized wearily. "I know you're just trying to help, but this is something I have to work through on my own."
"You do have friends who care about you, Miss Parker," Sydney advised. "Broots and I, and even Jarod."
Her eyes rolled instinctively. How she was really beginning to hate that name. The Hallmark moment dissolved into her headache giving a lurch of annoyance at the mention of Jarod. She closed the DSA case lid and stood.
"Have Broots call me when he has something."
She took quick steps toward the door in order to avoid any more of Sydney's friendly psychobabble. The goal was to go home now and maybe catch a few hours of sleep so she could get back in to the chase game later that morning.
Sydney had been right on a few accounts, she considered as she drove home. Parker had been spending nights at the Centre for reasons she was not sure she was ready to identify. There was work to be done, and that was the only thing keeping her going.
She thought about the children she had watched on the DSA and about how Raines looked like Beelzebub in bad seventies plaid. He was a pariah, a leach on the back of humanity no matter what he did. He scared Parker when she was a child, and for good reason. She had an instinct for people, and Raines triggered every warning mechanism in her brain any time he was near.
She concentrated on the images of David in the DSA. He did not look like he appreciated Raines' praise and perhaps even loathed his mentor. He was wise at such a young age, knowing full well he was a prisoner of the Centre and would never see his family again. He was the one child who fell out of the age scale with the other children, and that bothered Parker. Why would Raines take a chance on an older child like that who was likely to rebel at almost anything he was asked to do? The only conclusion she could draw was that David's extraordinary abilities outweighed the parameters of the age limit for the experiment. It was clear that he could move objects with his mind.
So what would a kid like that have grown into after twenty-five years? Stockbroker did not seem a likely choice, nor did any other white-collar occupation. A military or agency assassin, perhaps? Yes, that seemed a more sound theory. The Centre frequently "loaned" gifted subjects to the military for further research or special operations. It was entirely possible that David was now a CIA ghost, programmed to do the bidding of those who technically did not exist.
After a while, her house came into view. With it came a sinking feeling in Parker's chest, as though her heart lost all life. It would be empty inside, with only memories to remind her of the way things once were. Those she loved were ensconced in photographs and mementos that were sacred to her. They were memories of better times, of better people than the ones she associated with lately.
She parked her car and went inside the house, tossing her keys on the bureau by the door. As she turned to head into the kitchen, she nearly missed the small gold foil box on the corner of the bureau. She froze for a moment and stared at it. She knew who had to have put it there. Only one person could possibly have come into her home and left it.
Jarod was invading her life again.
Parker was inclined to leave the box there and ignore it. The bath seemed like a better option than to open herself to another one of Jarod's games. She continued to watch the box, as though waiting for the surprise to jump out at her. It certainly would not have been the first time that happened with one of his presents. It sat dormant, though, holding a secret beneath its cover. It had been her mission to capture Jarod for so long that she could not deny her curiosity of the contents. It was nearly an involuntary act as she snatched it up in her hand and opened the lid.
From inside, she pulled a tiny pendant. It was triangular in shape, three loops intertwined to form an eternal pattern - the Trinity Knot. She held it in the palm of her hand and traced the pattern with her eyes. She then looked in the box for the other contents and found what looked like puzzle parts. Immediately, she recognized it was a photograph that had been cut into interlocking pieces.
She moved quickly to the desk on the far side of the living room and turned on the light. The pieces were dumped onto the desk where she began assembling them. The picture was black and white, six inches high and four inches wide. The pieces were of moderate size, using a standard puzzle piece shapes she remembered assembling when she was a child.
The corners and edges were put in place first, then the inside of the photograph began to take form. A nun and two children were pictured. The nun was behind a boy and a girl, her arms draped over them affectionately. The boy had dark hair, and he looked so unhappy in his school uniform. The white shirt and dark pants hung on him as though they were two sizes too big. The girl was equally unhappy. Her eyes were hollow, as though she saw nothing before her. Her school uniform seemed to be a more proper fit than the boy's did. The plaid jumper hung on her small frame like a drape. Her wild blonde hair was a chorus of curls atop her head.
Finally, Parker examined the nun and noted how young the woman was. Her face was fresh and full of life as it peered out of the shroud of her habit. Her eyes glistened with life and energy, so opposite of the children she held.
When she finished the rudimentary assembly of the picture, she removed the tissue paper from the box, looking for some kind of note to explain the photo but found none. It obviously meant something, but what? Where the hell was Jarod's mockery? He usually sent a note with every clue he chose to shower upon the Centre and Parker. This box, though, was empty. It was devoid of subterfuge and misdirection. It was simply there, on her bureau for her to find.
Parker carefully put the pieces back into the box. She had been so exhausted when she arrived home, but she was fully awake now. Her adrenaline was renewed for reasons she could not say. She knew what she would do. A shower, a change of clothes, maybe a piece of fruit, and she would be on her way back to the Centre to deliver the contents of the box personally to Broots so he could reconstruct the contents. Lyle's shuffle pass of assignments to her would wait. Raines would get his report sooner or later, whenever that happened.
Her mind hit the brakes so suddenly that she let out an ironic giggle. Jarod had done it again. He had her on the run, on his terms. The gold foil box in her hand contained his lure to keep her in the game. He was trying to make her understand his loss, trying to make her empathize with what he felt by his entrapment in the Centre.
Dammit, she raged, she had known loss, too. Someone had killed her mother. Her father was nothing more than a Centre spook for all the good that had done her in her childhood years. He used his daughter when it suited his needs with the Centre. One of his needs of late was to bring Jarod into custody to keep the Triumvirate from removing precious parts of his anatomy.
Lyle's job for her was fluff. Jarod was the real deal. She pushed her personal feelings aside and concentrated on her priorities. Her task was to catch Jarod. The box contained another clue to doing that.
Parker had a job to do. The Centre wanted its pretender back, and that was exactly what she intended to give it.