Disclaimer in part 1
Note: This chapter is quite a bit shorter than I intended; but, real life is kind of interfering at the moment (in a good way g). I promise, the next part will be longer. Also - a big thank you to everyone who has posted a review. You have no idea how great it is to know that people are actually still reading this story!
Guilty
by imagine
Part 11/?
"You trust her with your life."
Jarod frowned. He was not naive enough to believe his mother would instantly approve of the bond he shared with Parker, but the bitterness in her tone was more than he was expecting.
Letting the bags slip from his shoulders to the floor behind the door, he moved to where his mother stood only to have her step away and turn her back on him. More than anything, he wanted to find reassurance in her eyes and an expression softer than her actions; but he couldn't find the courage to make her face him. Glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, Jarod pushed his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and searched for the words to make his mother understand.
"Yes," was all he managed.
She was silent for a moment, staring at the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "And, because you trust her, we're waiting for her, aren't we? That's why you brought me to this room, instead of escaping when we had the chance."
"Going out the front door was not an option."
"But trusting that woman is?"
"She's on our side," he promised. When his mother raised her head and looked at him in the reflection of the window, he added, "Parker and I have worked out a plan to get us all out of here."
"She brought you here as her prisoner, intending it to be a stop off on your way back to the Centre, yet you're worried about her getting out safely."
There was no question, just a simple statement of fact. But, despite the harsh edge to her voice, he heard her confusion. Jarod sighed and rubbed the back of his neck when his mother shook her head and averted her eyes. He imagined that she was deciding he'd been brainwashed, or that he was a casualty of the Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she was right. Maybe she was wrong. He could honestly make a case for both points of view, but he had no idea what difference it would make. He had memories that supported his feelings and, though he knew they were not normal, nor the kind his mother had hoped for him, but Jarod refused to dismiss their importance.
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been a part of my life for almost forty years, Mom," he said, finally, "Without them, I don't know that I would have survived."
"They took you from me."
"No." Tenderly slipping his hands to her shoulders, Jarod leaned closer to his mother. "They took care of me. Sydney was my teacher, my protector. Miss Parker was my friend."
"Your friend?" she dared. Abruptly spinning around, she startled Jarod and grabbed his wrist as he took a step back. "Explain to me how you could possibly consider that woman your friend."
The thought that he had to explain, and defend, his relationship with Miss Parker - or anyone else - was incomprehensible to him. He admitted it was illogical, but there was a part of him that always believed keeping his mother in his thoughts was the same as sharing them with her. As confused as he was about the depth of his feelings for Miss Parker, he was confident that she was someone he could trust. Therefore, his mother should know to trust her, too.
His face darkened, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing at the tone behind her words. Easily pulling from his mother's touch, he growled, "If it weren't for Miss Parker, you and I would not be standing here. She took a big risk when she decided to help us; a risk that could get her killed. We owe her. I owe her."
Margaret's eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but no words were uttered and, after a moment, Jarod felt his body relax. Taking a deep breath, he slid on to the bed and lowered his eyes. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined his mother could annoy and frustrate him so much. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined anyone could make him feel so defensive and unsure.
"You do not owe her anything," she spat. "You do not owe any of them anything. They kept you away from me, they chased you, shot at you, and Lord knows what else. Don't you see, you're better off - safer - without her."
"I will not leave without her. I will not leave her to face the Centre alone, when all she was doing was trying to help us."
"It's not your job to protect her. Besides, she isn't alone, she has Sydney."
"I won't leave without them."
As far back as he could remember, Miss Parker and Sydney were the only people in his life who seemed to understand his fears, and not try to use them against him. They were the best part of his childhood and he refused to let his mother, or anyone else, take that away from him.
At an age when he should have been pretending to be a sports hero and memorizing the statistics of his favorite teams, he was pretending to be an assassin and hypothesizing the motives for the murder of a movie legend. Instead of running for class President, he exposed political conspiracies. And, while children his age were developing social skills, Jarod was becoming addicted to an experimental drug the Centre believed could increase his mental prowess.
The experiments were taxing and, more times than not, the simulations were extremely frightening but, Sydney never allowed him to become overwhelmed. Unlike the other Centre doctors, who periodically took their turn exploiting his mind, early on, Sydney gave Jarod a safe word. Regardless of what the simulation was, or how important the experiment, Sydney would bring it to a halt as soon as the word was uttered. In return, Jarod only asked for refuge when it was absolutely necessary.
When Sydney was there, Jarod felt safe.
"Please, Mom, let's not do this now," he murmured, "We don't have time for me to tell you everything that's happened in the past three decades."
"I don't expect you to," she replied, her voice softening, "Not now."
Moving beside him on the bed, she slipped her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. She forced a smile, but let it fade when Jarod did not return the gesture. "I want to know everything, Baby, but right now all I'm concerned with is getting you somewhere safe before they find us."
For a brief moment, Jarod's thoughts drifted back to when he was a child. With his head on his pillow, he always ended the day by softly telling his parents that he loved them and that he was looking forward to the day they would come to take him home.
That day never came. If it had, he mused, none of this would be happening right now.
"We'll be leaving soon," he promised, "All of us."
Margaret expelled a frustrated breath and looked around the room. In her profile, he saw a woman who was tired and anxious, a woman who was desperate to have things her way and he felt his chest constrict. He wanted to do what she wanted, he wanted to please his mother; but, he could not abandon Parker and Sydney and he wished she would understand.
When her eyes came back to her son, Margaret brought her free hand to his face and caressed his cheek. Instinctively, Jarod leaned into the touch and, though he didn't raise his eyes to hers, she smiled.
"Catherine told me you and her daughter were close," she said, softly drawing her hand away from his face and laying it on top of the hand she held, "and, as difficult as it may be for you to believe, I am glad you had a friend, someone your own age to help you while you were in that place."
He was silent, wary of whatever tactic his mother was about to use to make him do as she wished, while reminding himself that his mother was doing what she thought was best. He decided she did not deserve another outburst of frustration and, in order to keep himself quiet, concentrated on the warmth of her hand and the friendship he was defending.
"I am sure Miss Parker played a large role in your life. In fact, I will go so far as to say that your friendship with her probably helped mold you into the man you are today."
On days Sydney ended their session early, Miss Parker and Angelo would turn up and steal him away for a few hours of childish distraction. When they weren't sitting in a quiet corner, sharing thoughts and secrets, they were scurrying through air vents and shadowed hallways, listening to things they should never have heard. Though they normally escaped being found in places they did not belong, there were times they were caught and punished. Even then, when he was isolated from his mentor and turned over Mr. Raines to perform experiments he knew Sydney would never approve of, Jarod always looked forward to his next visit with Miss Parker and Angelo.
With his eyes, he carefully traced the fingers that melted around his, paying special attention to the tan line that marked the place her birthstone ring belonged. Without looking up, he shot a quick glance at the bags he'd left behind the door.
"But, Miss Parker is not the same little girl you befriended as a child, Baby. She grew up and her priorities changed. She's done terrible things in her life."
Slowly, Jarod brought his attention back on his mother. Shaking his head slightly, he met her gaze and, in a soft voice, countered, "I am not the same little boy who was taken from you forty years ago, either. I grew up. I've done things neither you or Dad would have approved of, but it doesn't change the fact that I love you or that you love me."
The moment his words were spoken, her eyes hardened and Jarod tensed.
"Does it?"
"It's not the same thing. You are my son," she told him, "Since the day you were taken, not a day has gone by where I haven't fantasized about finding you and bringing you home. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you or worrying about you, Jarod."
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been in my life for as long as I can remember; they have done more for me than you will ever know," he told her, "Since my escape, I've helped total strangers, defended them when they couldn't help themselves, because it was the right thing to do. I cannot turn my back on people I care about, Mom, because I cannot leave here without them."
"Even if it means giving up your freedom?"
"It would never come to that."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just am." Pulling his hand from hers, he shook his head sadly. "I suppose, if you've decided not to trust them, I can't force you; but, please, Mom, trust me when I tell you they are on our side."
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Margaret moved from the bed to the window. Aware that his eyes were upon her, she kept her back to him and stared at the icicles that hung from the eaves. "I'm trying. I promise you, Jarod, for your sake, I want to believe Miss Parker is the woman her mother was sure she would become."
"What's stopping you?"
"Her history, her actions," she shrugged, "Everything."
She heard the soft squeak of the bed as he rose and watched his movements in the reflection of the window. The distortion of his face, in the pane, when he looked at her, confirmed what she already knew. He was disappointed in her response. He was disappointed in her.
He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair before heading toward the bags, at the edge of the room. His movements were slow and, she thought, a bit unsure. Turning, she watched him press the flat of his hand against the wall for support and then lean against it with his shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded. Using the wall, Jarod slowly lowered himself to one knee. and hunched over the two bags he had dropped earlier. With one hand, he pulled the vinyl bag toward him.
"I have something for you."
For the first time, Margaret looked at the pieces of luggage. As recognition dawned, she moved closer to her son.
"That's my bag. Where did you get it?"
"The police brought it to me, at the hospital, after they pulled it from the river," he explained. Keeping his back to her, he unzipped the side compartment. "I . ."
"What else did they recover?" she asked.
Hearing the anxiousness in her voice, Jarod pivoted slightly, so he could look at her. She saw his confusion, but Margaret offered no explanation for her tone. Instead, she just waited for his response.
Splitting his gaze between her and the bags, Jarod finally answered, "These two bags, mine and yours, were all they brought me."
"Nothing else?"
He shook his head.
"And Miss Parker brought them here?"
He nodded, unsure of the direction of the conversation, but unwilling to voice his questions. Though her tone had lost its urgency and she had stopped herself from pacing after only a few steps in each direction, her hands were curled into fists that clenched when she spoke. Exhaling softly, Jarod told himself that whatever secrets his mother was keeping would have to wait until they were safe.
"If anyone knew she had them, they would have been confiscated and she would have a lot of explaining to do."
Margaret knew that what he was saying was true, but could not seem to make the knot in her chest relax. She was relieved that he didn't seem to know about the strong box; but was not convinced that Miss Parker might not have it in her possession and the idea that the brunette might have already shared the box with Cox and Alex terrified her. There was no telling how long it would take them to break the lock, how long it would take them to realize what they had, or how long it would take before her promise to Catherine Parker was broken.
"Just like they would have confiscated this, if they knew she'd found it," he added.
Turning on his knee, Jarod opened his hand and held it out to his mother. He smiled crookedly when her eyes darted between the ring she claimed to have worn every day for decades, and his face. "She cleaned it for you, too."
Without a word, Margaret knelt beside her son and gingerly took the gold band from his hand. She felt her eyes fill and his arm slipping around her shoulders, but the focus of her attention was on the three stones that sparkled up at her from the gold setting. Topaz, Ruby, Garnet.
Leaning into her, Jarod pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed his mother softly on the cheek.
"Parker is not a Saint," he whispered as he pulled back, "but she's not evil incarnate. I promise, it's all right to trust her. At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."
Leaving her on the floor, Jarod pulled himself to his feet. After only a few steps, though, the Pretender faltered. His knees buckled and, though he reached out for something to use for balance, all he managed to do was brush his fingers along the edge of the bed post. He heard his mother cry out and, an instant after his body hit the ground, he felt her arms around him.
"Jarod. Jarod, what's wrong?"
"I'm okay," he whispered. Wrapping his arm around his mother's shoulder, he allowed her to help him to his feet.
"Like hell you are," she spat. "If you were okay, you wouldn't have lost your balance."
Though he tried to pull from her hold, Margaret kept a secure grip on her son, led him to the Queen sized bed and ordered him to sit. Jarod did not argue. Suddenly, his legs felt like rubber and his heartbeat was as rapid as if he had just run a marathon. With his arm looped around the bed post, Jarod lowered his head and took deep breaths, releasing them as slowly as possible in hopes of regulating his heartbeat. When he finally sat up, he found his mother sitting beside him with a glass of water.
"I'm all right," he repeated, taking a sip of the drink, "I guess I just over did it a little."
She ran her hand across his brow and frowned. "You don't feel like you're running a fever, but I should have realized you needed to rest. Instead of arguing with you, I should have insisted you lay down or ..."
"Mom," he patted her hand to silence her and smiled, "I promise, there is no way you were going to get me to lay down. I promise, I will rest as soon as we're out of here."
"And, exactly, when will that be?" she asked, watching him place the still half filled glass on the night table.
"Soon."
Annoyed by his vagueness, she was about to demand a real answer, when her attention was drawn to a sound behind her. The floorboards on the other side of the door creaked in protest to additional weight and Margaret's eyes automatically dropped to the doorknob as it began to twist. Less than a second later, Jarod was on his feet and pulling her across the room. Quickly placing a finger against his lips, he silently pushed her toward the wall that the door would open against and stepped back.
With her hand across her mouth, she watched anxiously as her son retrieved a gun from the waistband at the small of his back. It seemed as if his entire body tensed in a split second. His shoulders were no longer slumped forward, the muscles in his jaw were tight and his breaths were shallow and quick. Positioning himself on the opposite side of the door, he pointed the automatic toward the ceiling with the one hand while the other told her to stay where she was.
"Please, be careful," she whispered.
TBC
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)
Note: This chapter is quite a bit shorter than I intended; but, real life is kind of interfering at the moment (in a good way g). I promise, the next part will be longer. Also - a big thank you to everyone who has posted a review. You have no idea how great it is to know that people are actually still reading this story!
Guilty
by imagine
Part 11/?
"You trust her with your life."
Jarod frowned. He was not naive enough to believe his mother would instantly approve of the bond he shared with Parker, but the bitterness in her tone was more than he was expecting.
Letting the bags slip from his shoulders to the floor behind the door, he moved to where his mother stood only to have her step away and turn her back on him. More than anything, he wanted to find reassurance in her eyes and an expression softer than her actions; but he couldn't find the courage to make her face him. Glancing over his shoulder at the closed door, Jarod pushed his hands deep in the pockets of his jeans and searched for the words to make his mother understand.
"Yes," was all he managed.
She was silent for a moment, staring at the floor with her arms wrapped tightly around her waist. "And, because you trust her, we're waiting for her, aren't we? That's why you brought me to this room, instead of escaping when we had the chance."
"Going out the front door was not an option."
"But trusting that woman is?"
"She's on our side," he promised. When his mother raised her head and looked at him in the reflection of the window, he added, "Parker and I have worked out a plan to get us all out of here."
"She brought you here as her prisoner, intending it to be a stop off on your way back to the Centre, yet you're worried about her getting out safely."
There was no question, just a simple statement of fact. But, despite the harsh edge to her voice, he heard her confusion. Jarod sighed and rubbed the back of his neck when his mother shook her head and averted her eyes. He imagined that she was deciding he'd been brainwashed, or that he was a casualty of the Stockholm Syndrome. Maybe she was right. Maybe she was wrong. He could honestly make a case for both points of view, but he had no idea what difference it would make. He had memories that supported his feelings and, though he knew they were not normal, nor the kind his mother had hoped for him, but Jarod refused to dismiss their importance.
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been a part of my life for almost forty years, Mom," he said, finally, "Without them, I don't know that I would have survived."
"They took you from me."
"No." Tenderly slipping his hands to her shoulders, Jarod leaned closer to his mother. "They took care of me. Sydney was my teacher, my protector. Miss Parker was my friend."
"Your friend?" she dared. Abruptly spinning around, she startled Jarod and grabbed his wrist as he took a step back. "Explain to me how you could possibly consider that woman your friend."
The thought that he had to explain, and defend, his relationship with Miss Parker - or anyone else - was incomprehensible to him. He admitted it was illogical, but there was a part of him that always believed keeping his mother in his thoughts was the same as sharing them with her. As confused as he was about the depth of his feelings for Miss Parker, he was confident that she was someone he could trust. Therefore, his mother should know to trust her, too.
His face darkened, his jaw tightening and his eyes narrowing at the tone behind her words. Easily pulling from his mother's touch, he growled, "If it weren't for Miss Parker, you and I would not be standing here. She took a big risk when she decided to help us; a risk that could get her killed. We owe her. I owe her."
Margaret's eyes widened and her lips parted, as if she were about to speak, but no words were uttered and, after a moment, Jarod felt his body relax. Taking a deep breath, he slid on to the bed and lowered his eyes. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined his mother could annoy and frustrate him so much. Never, in his wildest dreams, had he imagined anyone could make him feel so defensive and unsure.
"You do not owe her anything," she spat. "You do not owe any of them anything. They kept you away from me, they chased you, shot at you, and Lord knows what else. Don't you see, you're better off - safer - without her."
"I will not leave without her. I will not leave her to face the Centre alone, when all she was doing was trying to help us."
"It's not your job to protect her. Besides, she isn't alone, she has Sydney."
"I won't leave without them."
As far back as he could remember, Miss Parker and Sydney were the only people in his life who seemed to understand his fears, and not try to use them against him. They were the best part of his childhood and he refused to let his mother, or anyone else, take that away from him.
At an age when he should have been pretending to be a sports hero and memorizing the statistics of his favorite teams, he was pretending to be an assassin and hypothesizing the motives for the murder of a movie legend. Instead of running for class President, he exposed political conspiracies. And, while children his age were developing social skills, Jarod was becoming addicted to an experimental drug the Centre believed could increase his mental prowess.
The experiments were taxing and, more times than not, the simulations were extremely frightening but, Sydney never allowed him to become overwhelmed. Unlike the other Centre doctors, who periodically took their turn exploiting his mind, early on, Sydney gave Jarod a safe word. Regardless of what the simulation was, or how important the experiment, Sydney would bring it to a halt as soon as the word was uttered. In return, Jarod only asked for refuge when it was absolutely necessary.
When Sydney was there, Jarod felt safe.
"Please, Mom, let's not do this now," he murmured, "We don't have time for me to tell you everything that's happened in the past three decades."
"I don't expect you to," she replied, her voice softening, "Not now."
Moving beside him on the bed, she slipped her hand in his and squeezed it tightly. She forced a smile, but let it fade when Jarod did not return the gesture. "I want to know everything, Baby, but right now all I'm concerned with is getting you somewhere safe before they find us."
For a brief moment, Jarod's thoughts drifted back to when he was a child. With his head on his pillow, he always ended the day by softly telling his parents that he loved them and that he was looking forward to the day they would come to take him home.
That day never came. If it had, he mused, none of this would be happening right now.
"We'll be leaving soon," he promised, "All of us."
Margaret expelled a frustrated breath and looked around the room. In her profile, he saw a woman who was tired and anxious, a woman who was desperate to have things her way and he felt his chest constrict. He wanted to do what she wanted, he wanted to please his mother; but, he could not abandon Parker and Sydney and he wished she would understand.
When her eyes came back to her son, Margaret brought her free hand to his face and caressed his cheek. Instinctively, Jarod leaned into the touch and, though he didn't raise his eyes to hers, she smiled.
"Catherine told me you and her daughter were close," she said, softly drawing her hand away from his face and laying it on top of the hand she held, "and, as difficult as it may be for you to believe, I am glad you had a friend, someone your own age to help you while you were in that place."
He was silent, wary of whatever tactic his mother was about to use to make him do as she wished, while reminding himself that his mother was doing what she thought was best. He decided she did not deserve another outburst of frustration and, in order to keep himself quiet, concentrated on the warmth of her hand and the friendship he was defending.
"I am sure Miss Parker played a large role in your life. In fact, I will go so far as to say that your friendship with her probably helped mold you into the man you are today."
On days Sydney ended their session early, Miss Parker and Angelo would turn up and steal him away for a few hours of childish distraction. When they weren't sitting in a quiet corner, sharing thoughts and secrets, they were scurrying through air vents and shadowed hallways, listening to things they should never have heard. Though they normally escaped being found in places they did not belong, there were times they were caught and punished. Even then, when he was isolated from his mentor and turned over Mr. Raines to perform experiments he knew Sydney would never approve of, Jarod always looked forward to his next visit with Miss Parker and Angelo.
With his eyes, he carefully traced the fingers that melted around his, paying special attention to the tan line that marked the place her birthstone ring belonged. Without looking up, he shot a quick glance at the bags he'd left behind the door.
"But, Miss Parker is not the same little girl you befriended as a child, Baby. She grew up and her priorities changed. She's done terrible things in her life."
Slowly, Jarod brought his attention back on his mother. Shaking his head slightly, he met her gaze and, in a soft voice, countered, "I am not the same little boy who was taken from you forty years ago, either. I grew up. I've done things neither you or Dad would have approved of, but it doesn't change the fact that I love you or that you love me."
The moment his words were spoken, her eyes hardened and Jarod tensed.
"Does it?"
"It's not the same thing. You are my son," she told him, "Since the day you were taken, not a day has gone by where I haven't fantasized about finding you and bringing you home. Nothing will ever stop me from loving you or worrying about you, Jarod."
"Miss Parker and Sydney have been in my life for as long as I can remember; they have done more for me than you will ever know," he told her, "Since my escape, I've helped total strangers, defended them when they couldn't help themselves, because it was the right thing to do. I cannot turn my back on people I care about, Mom, because I cannot leave here without them."
"Even if it means giving up your freedom?"
"It would never come to that."
"How can you be so sure?"
"I just am." Pulling his hand from hers, he shook his head sadly. "I suppose, if you've decided not to trust them, I can't force you; but, please, Mom, trust me when I tell you they are on our side."
Wrapping her arms around her waist, Margaret moved from the bed to the window. Aware that his eyes were upon her, she kept her back to him and stared at the icicles that hung from the eaves. "I'm trying. I promise you, Jarod, for your sake, I want to believe Miss Parker is the woman her mother was sure she would become."
"What's stopping you?"
"Her history, her actions," she shrugged, "Everything."
She heard the soft squeak of the bed as he rose and watched his movements in the reflection of the window. The distortion of his face, in the pane, when he looked at her, confirmed what she already knew. He was disappointed in her response. He was disappointed in her.
He ran his fingers through his already mussed hair before heading toward the bags, at the edge of the room. His movements were slow and, she thought, a bit unsure. Turning, she watched him press the flat of his hand against the wall for support and then lean against it with his shoulder.
"Are you all right?"
He nodded. Using the wall, Jarod slowly lowered himself to one knee. and hunched over the two bags he had dropped earlier. With one hand, he pulled the vinyl bag toward him.
"I have something for you."
For the first time, Margaret looked at the pieces of luggage. As recognition dawned, she moved closer to her son.
"That's my bag. Where did you get it?"
"The police brought it to me, at the hospital, after they pulled it from the river," he explained. Keeping his back to her, he unzipped the side compartment. "I . ."
"What else did they recover?" she asked.
Hearing the anxiousness in her voice, Jarod pivoted slightly, so he could look at her. She saw his confusion, but Margaret offered no explanation for her tone. Instead, she just waited for his response.
Splitting his gaze between her and the bags, Jarod finally answered, "These two bags, mine and yours, were all they brought me."
"Nothing else?"
He shook his head.
"And Miss Parker brought them here?"
He nodded, unsure of the direction of the conversation, but unwilling to voice his questions. Though her tone had lost its urgency and she had stopped herself from pacing after only a few steps in each direction, her hands were curled into fists that clenched when she spoke. Exhaling softly, Jarod told himself that whatever secrets his mother was keeping would have to wait until they were safe.
"If anyone knew she had them, they would have been confiscated and she would have a lot of explaining to do."
Margaret knew that what he was saying was true, but could not seem to make the knot in her chest relax. She was relieved that he didn't seem to know about the strong box; but was not convinced that Miss Parker might not have it in her possession and the idea that the brunette might have already shared the box with Cox and Alex terrified her. There was no telling how long it would take them to break the lock, how long it would take them to realize what they had, or how long it would take before her promise to Catherine Parker was broken.
"Just like they would have confiscated this, if they knew she'd found it," he added.
Turning on his knee, Jarod opened his hand and held it out to his mother. He smiled crookedly when her eyes darted between the ring she claimed to have worn every day for decades, and his face. "She cleaned it for you, too."
Without a word, Margaret knelt beside her son and gingerly took the gold band from his hand. She felt her eyes fill and his arm slipping around her shoulders, but the focus of her attention was on the three stones that sparkled up at her from the gold setting. Topaz, Ruby, Garnet.
Leaning into her, Jarod pushed her hair behind her ear and kissed his mother softly on the cheek.
"Parker is not a Saint," he whispered as he pulled back, "but she's not evil incarnate. I promise, it's all right to trust her. At the very least, give her the benefit of the doubt."
Leaving her on the floor, Jarod pulled himself to his feet. After only a few steps, though, the Pretender faltered. His knees buckled and, though he reached out for something to use for balance, all he managed to do was brush his fingers along the edge of the bed post. He heard his mother cry out and, an instant after his body hit the ground, he felt her arms around him.
"Jarod. Jarod, what's wrong?"
"I'm okay," he whispered. Wrapping his arm around his mother's shoulder, he allowed her to help him to his feet.
"Like hell you are," she spat. "If you were okay, you wouldn't have lost your balance."
Though he tried to pull from her hold, Margaret kept a secure grip on her son, led him to the Queen sized bed and ordered him to sit. Jarod did not argue. Suddenly, his legs felt like rubber and his heartbeat was as rapid as if he had just run a marathon. With his arm looped around the bed post, Jarod lowered his head and took deep breaths, releasing them as slowly as possible in hopes of regulating his heartbeat. When he finally sat up, he found his mother sitting beside him with a glass of water.
"I'm all right," he repeated, taking a sip of the drink, "I guess I just over did it a little."
She ran her hand across his brow and frowned. "You don't feel like you're running a fever, but I should have realized you needed to rest. Instead of arguing with you, I should have insisted you lay down or ..."
"Mom," he patted her hand to silence her and smiled, "I promise, there is no way you were going to get me to lay down. I promise, I will rest as soon as we're out of here."
"And, exactly, when will that be?" she asked, watching him place the still half filled glass on the night table.
"Soon."
Annoyed by his vagueness, she was about to demand a real answer, when her attention was drawn to a sound behind her. The floorboards on the other side of the door creaked in protest to additional weight and Margaret's eyes automatically dropped to the doorknob as it began to twist. Less than a second later, Jarod was on his feet and pulling her across the room. Quickly placing a finger against his lips, he silently pushed her toward the wall that the door would open against and stepped back.
With her hand across her mouth, she watched anxiously as her son retrieved a gun from the waistband at the small of his back. It seemed as if his entire body tensed in a split second. His shoulders were no longer slumped forward, the muscles in his jaw were tight and his breaths were shallow and quick. Positioning himself on the opposite side of the door, he pointed the automatic toward the ceiling with the one hand while the other told her to stay where she was.
"Please, be careful," she whispered.
TBC
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)