CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
When the plane landed, Miss Parker expected to see Jarod still at the pilot's seat, not the envelope nor did she expect to see another in the sleeping quarters up the stairs — although knowing his former habits, a note under her pillow would be more his style. It was written in a cursive style, an attempt to get out the usual method Jarod used for communication, printing. So far, he had surpassed her expectations. His handwriting showed masculinity combined with a bold stroke, the i's were doted precisely, the letters were not joined as in the American style, but more like those of the Europeans. It was mainly straight with just a touch to the right, showing his personality.
When he was in the Centre, Miss Parker had regarded Jarod as not even an adult, just a grown up child who needed direction. The Centre had specifically ordered Sydney not to teach Jarod how to write, only to print and when he escaped, the only writing he did was to copy signatures. In a way, this along with keeping information on culture from him, strengthened his dependence, and made him easier to caught. How he escaped for so long was plain sheer luck.
She had felt amused at Jarod's innocence then, but as the years and the pursuit went on, it became frustrating. It was one thing for a child to ask "what's that for?" but an adult, and one born in America!
"I have gone searching for answers regarding your maternal grandparents, and having no desire to see you harmed, will bring the information to you this evening at the front of Trinity College. I suspect that if The Centre had anything to do with your mother placed in a convent at an early age, they might have taken steps to ensure that any witnesses to your grandparent's deaths, disappearances, or imprisonments would not be encouraged. If anything develops pertinent to that information, I will notify Broots via e-mail. Love, Jarod."
"Shall I go after him?" asked Sam, his hands on his gun that showed above the holster.
"No Sam. We'll do a little sight seeing and if you see Jarod or we see Jarod, we'll act as if we don't know him. Obviously this ploy is for our safety."
"I can take care of you, Miss Parker," said the sweeper, implying that with the children now born, they no longer needed Jarod.
"And Mr. Lambourni will take care of you," she snapped back. "Remember what I told you when we returned to Blue Cove? The same warning applies to women who have given birth recently. Post Partum depression. Sometimes it brings up a murderous feeling often directed against those who are supposedly their protectors."
"All right, Miss Parker."
"Oh Sam, Sydney must be up by now. I'd like to talk to him."
"What about the others?"
She looked over the cabin. "Antonio's taking good care of the kids and Gemini's taking a stretch. I got a call from little Margaret. They're at Heathrow Airport and wondering why we aren't there. I told them that we're looking for my ancestors."
"All right, Miss Parker." He left to go back to the cabin where Sydney, not wishing to bother her, had slept on two of the seats.
Sydney was not feeling too well. His face seemed a little too red.
"I think you should see a doctor, Sydney." She laid her hand consolingly on his right shoulder.
"I'll be all right. Where's Jarod?"
"He says he'll meet us at the Trinity College this evening. Meanwhile I'll see if there's a hospital near by."
"What about the others?"
Miss Parker looked over to where Antonio and Debbie were chatting with the youngsters. "Antonio, I've got to take Sydney to the doctor. Will you be all right?"
Of course, Lambourni did what she expected him to, went to the suitcases, and started throwing out clothes. "Just wait until I find something for the young ones to wear."
"Look Antonio, it'll be just an hour or two."
"You think? Unless you have money, you'll have to go to a waiting list and you'll be lucky to get in under eight hours. You just gave birth not that long ago. I think — these'll do. Jeremiah,here. And Patricia, you will be more appropriate in this." He continued to throw clothes to the children, except for the infants who were still sleeping peacefully.
"Rachel, do you want to go as well?" she asked.
"I've got to see the police about a case, Miss Parker. Charles, David, and Naomi, do you want to see the sights with Miss Parker or do you want to visit an Irish police station?" She scrunched up her face. "Now the police station isn't that nice. It's not like in Connecticut, it's dirty and they have very bad people in jails here. Nasty people. You wouldn't want to see them."
It was not what she expected. "Will they want our assistance in solving any cases?" asked Naomi and her face lit up as if her mother was offering her candy.
"Are there real killers in Dublin prisons or just those who have partaken of too much alcoholic beverage?" asked Charles.
"We want to see how they react to confinement, mother," added David.
"I think you should go with Miss Parker."
All three shook their heads and stood firm.
"All right," said their mother, "but you have to do what the desk sergeant says, no ripping off posters off the wall, no offering to track down the criminals, and no wanting to ''help' the detectives type out their reports."
"We're to meet at the front of Trinity College in the evening," said Miss Parker. "I don't know the time, but I'd suspect it'd be around seven or eight." She turned to see a small hand tugging at her.
"Can we go and see the criminals?" asked Patricia in all innocence.
"No," snapped her mother.
They got off the plane, including Charles and Margaret and went to look for a private Catholic hospital for middle aged patients, while Rachel hailed a taxi that took her and her children to the nearest Dublin police station.
As Antonio said, getting a private practicing physician in Ireland cost money. The doctor ushered Sydney in to his office while the children started to look at the toys. Debbie pointed out to Gemini her rendition of Irish culture, which mainly came from old movies and Charles, who was partially descended from the ancient Gauls, pointed out to the older children some of the famous Irish heroes.
"It'll be some time," said the receptionist, "at least a couple of hours."
"All right," said Miss Parker, "we'll just walk around." She smiled and they all left, and then suddenly …
"Mother, angels!"
"Patricia what is it?"
"Angels on the wall."
"I don't see any."
The inner sense had entered her daughter
"Invisible mother," she said in frustration.
Miss Parker breathed with relief. The little girl did not have that curse. She put it down to her daughter having a greater faith than she had. I must talk to a priest about this, she thought and then dismissed it. The Centre might have gotten to the priest as well.
Now having visions of that time in California, where Jeremiah encouraged his younger brothers and sisters to run so the grownups would get frustrated, Miss Parker made a beeline for the nearest store for child harnesses — preferably made of child resistant material. Jarod was out searching for information and she couldn't think it right for Antonio or the other Dominants in the party to take over the discipline.
Still as they walked along the streets, the children showed no signs of skipping away and then she saw the bulge in Antonio's pocket. Surely, he didn't threaten to shoot them if they did, but with Lambourni she wasn't sure. She decided to ask Jarvis.
"You've been quite good," she said and seeing his prideful look, "I mean excellent in behavior."
"Antonio said that we have to show dili-diligents –for evil Sapiens who makes children labor in evil movies might entice us."
"What do you mean evil movies?"
"I have no idea. I think its movies where the children have to steal things and lie."
"Yes, your oldest brother's right. You shouldn't be in those types of movies. And it's not right. You have to go to Acting School and do years and years of study. And get up very early in the morning, and memorize your lines and learn how to jump off buildings," she said, hoping her wide-eyed expression impressed on her son how much work real acting was.
"Oh!" He lost his superiority look, almost.
"You remember me telling you that Margaret had to do her voice training? That she wanted to come on the plane with us, but she couldn't. She has to go to London first and in a big crowded airplane with lots of people and she probably has to stay in an old hotel, all dusty, the toilets don't work, and her room will probably be very very cold. And she has to go every morning to the theatre and practice for hours until she gets her lines right!"
"Oh. If I see an evil person wanting me to do some bad movies, I'll tell a policeman."
"Good Jarvis." She checked her watch. They had time to get a meal before getting back to the doctor's office.
They stopped in at a family restaurant that specialized in country dishes. The woman served them Potato soup, Corned Beef and Cabbage, Bangers and Mash, Dublin Coddle, and every other Irish dish so that Miss Parker was unable to discern what of the group ordered what. And she felt so embarrassed when Jeremiah dug his fork into Antonio's Baked Salmon, and Adrian decided he really didn't like Boxty, so he tried to pass it off to Debbie who really only wanted the Pea and Ham Soup. As for Patricia and Olivia, both were arguing about the Irish Stew. One wanted it, the other wanted it, and as soon as they tasted it, decided they no longer wanted it. Gemini had no idea what he wanted so Miss Parker then asked the cook for some more plates and before anyone protested, handed each a tablespoon from the various bowls.
When it came for dessert, however, no one wanted to share, and everyone wanted what the other one had.
"That's it," she said as they all left the restaurant, "I had a hard time nursing the babies with all of you poking in this dish or the other. And to actually take most of your oldest brother's salmon, Jeremiah, that was very rude."
Jeremiah just looked up at his mother, seemingly so innocent. She shook her head.
At the Doctor's office, they looked for Sydney, but he wasn't there. By now, Miss Parker was besides herself. She had read stories like this, where someone felt a little ill, went along with a friend to — well it was a hotel room in the story — and then when the friend came back, everyone denied that the person ever existed.
The story was that the person had bubonic plague, or Spanish flu – something dreadful.
A few minutes later, the doctor came in the door. "Sorry for being so late," he said. "I had to check your friend in at the hospital."
"Hospital?"
"Yes, St. Anne's. It's a private residence. It was his request," said the doctor, showing Miss Parker the appropriate forms that one used in case of an emergency admittance.
"Sydney would never do that," whispered Sam.
"Your friend?" asked the doctor. "I should him his EKG, took his blood pressure, dangerously high. I also performed various tests. Do you want it straight?"
"Yes doctor," said Miss Parker.
"His arteries are clogged, and his heart rates erratic. What kept him alive for this long is a miracle, but if he makes it through the night, it'll be a miracle."
Her face almost pale, Miss Parker sat down in the chair. Jarod had told her that he'd be at Trinity College that night, but Sydney might not last that long. And how was he going to react? She remembered seeing that video of the reporter talking to the Triumvirate. How they told him that if Sydney were gone, Jarod would cease to exist. Either it meant, the erasure of much of his personality, or his becoming vicious. Then, she saw a face, a familiar face among the Dublin crowd outside. It couldn't be, she thought, he's supposed to be dead!