Note: I know that my posts are few and far between -but real life is cutting into FF time. I have no idea when the next chapter to this story will be done but I can guarantee it won't be until after the New Year. Thanks for being so patient and, more importantly ...
Happy Holidays to you all!
Disclaimer in part 1
Guilty
by imagine
When Jarod emerged from the bedroom, almost forty minutes after he'd been left with his mother, he was alone. Quietly closing the door behind him, he crossed to the fireplace, where Miss Parker and Sydney were waiting. Without looking at either of them, he picked up the poker and stabbed at the charred logs in the hearth.
"My mother will be out in a few minutes," he said.
"Is everything all right?" Sydney asked.
A myriad of responses sprung to mind but, almost as quickly, Jarod decided to keep them to himself. It wasn't Sydney's fault that he was having trouble reconciling the mother he'd imagined all these years to the woman in the next room. Looking at his mentor, the Pretender forced a smile then patted the older man's shoulder and shook his head. "Everything is fine, Sydney. I'm just tired."
"Maybe you should sit."
"I've been sitting too much."
Leaning the poker against the edge of the fireplace, Jarod crossed to the windows as the bedroom door opened again. Though Miss Parker and Sydney faced the new arrival, he kept his gaze on the falling snow.
Margaret glanced around the room, frowning slightly when her son did not turn toward her. Without a word, she moved past the brunette and the psychiatrist, stopping slightly behind Jarod. When he still kept his gaze on the view outside, she softly slid her arm around his and moved between him and the window.
"Jarod, we weren't done."
"Yes, we were," he answered calmly. His eyes shifted from the snowfall to his mother's hazel eyes. "You are not leaving."
"Leaving?" Miss Parker repeated, glaring at the two. "Who is leaving?"
When Jarod pulled from her gentle hold and turned his eyes back on the falling snow, Margaret faced the woman and answered, "I am. The sooner the better."
"We've been over this," Jarod said, in a low, clear voice, "You are not going by yourself."
"I don't want to leave, Baby, I don't have a choice."
"There is always a choice."
"As much as I'm enjoying this little family spat, would the two of you mind letting the rest of us in on this conversation?" Miss Parker interjected.
After releasing a heavy sigh, Jarod answered in a deep, dull voice. "My mother has decided she should get the metal box on her own."
"And my son seems to think I am incapable of performing such a task."
"I am not doubting your capabilities," he hissed, glaring at her, "It is a matter of your safety."
"Jarod is right," Sydney offered. "Margaret, if you do this, you will be traveling very close to the house occupied by Alex and Cox. By traveling alone, you will . ."
"I have been on my own for decades," the woman interrupted, angrily, "I don't see how this situation is any different for me than the situations of the last thirty plus years."
"Maybe that is the problem," Jarod replied, quietly.
Shifting her attention from Sydney to her son, Margaret's expression softened. Taking a deep breath, she moved back to his side. "Jarod, I told you days ago that our being together was not safe. I told you the Centre would come after us and, not only have they done as I predicted, but they almost killed you. I will not allow that to happen again."
"Um, actually, only Alex and Mr. Cox have come after you," Broots replied, interrupting Jarod's response. "From what Debbie and I have found, I don't think anyone at the Centre actually knows the two of you have found each other."
"What are you talking about, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked, allowing his voice mirror the fatigue that was washing over him.
Though Jarod did not leave his place at the window, his mother moved away, anxiously pacing the length of the room as Broots quickly explained what he and Debbie had uncovered about Operation Prophecy. When he finished, he looked nervously from the skepticism in Jarod's gaze to the confidence in Miss Parker's. As if on cue, the brunette moved to his side, drawing the Pretender's concentration from him to her.
"Alex and Cox are working on their own," Miss Parker said, "There are three locked rooms, at the safe house. One of them is filled with reams of binders, and each contains photos, newspaper clippings and personal information, such as names of people they trust."
"And why do you find this odd?" Jarod dared. "I am not naive, Parker, I have no doubt that the Centre has been compiling data about my family."
"Jarod, you don't understand. Alex and Cox have gathered more information about your family, primarily you and your mother, than the Centre has ever dreamed of. They are not sharing what they find."
"Forgive me for not being upset with their selfishness," he snapped. "Besides, even if they are working on their own, what possible reason could they have?"
"The scrolls."
"What?"
"They want the scrolls," she repeated.
Sensing Jarod's frustration and desperation, Sydney used his calmest voice when he added, "The second room we were shown contains reference materials about documents produced between the 12th and 17th centuries. They do not believe the scrolls were destroyed when Mr. Parker jumped from the airplane."
Jarod's shoulders slumped slightly at the information. Averting his eyes from his mentor, he watched his mother continue her trek from one wall of the room to the other. Her arms were folded in front of her and she shook her head slightly as she moved, her eyes concentrating on her feet.
"What about the third room?"
"We never gained access," Sydney responded.
"Based on what we did see, we believe Alex and Cox are planning on authenticating the scrolls, once they're recovered, and using the contents to their advantage," Miss Parker continued, glancing at Margaret but keeping her words directed at Jarod. "Which brings us back to your mother, the only person with any knowledge of the scrolls or their whereabouts. It is important she tell us what she knows."
"I've already told you everything," Margaret replied, finally looking up.
"Like hell you have," she snarled, grabbing the woman's arm as she started toward her son, "All you've told us is that the scrolls are locked in that metal case. I want to know how that is possible, considering Jarod and I found them on Carthis. We saw them."
"You saw forgeries. Forgeries your mother helped me make."
Parker's eyes widened, but she said nothing.
"Mom, please, you need to tell her. If you don't, I will."
"Tell me what?"
Pulling out of the woman's hold, which had suddenly loosened, Margaret took a step back. After taking a deep breath, continued in a softer tone, her eyes trained steadily on Miss Parker. "About a year before she died, your mother contacted us through a mutual friend."
"Harriet Tashman," Miss Parker murmured.
"That's right," she sighed. "At first, Charles and I were suspicious of Catherine but, as time went on, we decided she was sincere when she told us she wanted to help us get our boys back."
"Okay, so you and my mother were acquaintances. That does not explain . ."
"We were more than acquaintances," she replied, pivoting so that she and Miss Parker were facing each other again, "Catherine became a very close and trusted friend. She told us everything we needed to know about Jarod and Kyle. She told us how they were, where they were, and what they were being subjected to. As strange as it seems, every bit of information we had about the boys comforted us, and made us more determined to bring them home."
Hesitating, Margaret glanced at Jarod, but the man still had his back to the room. Releasing a soft breath, she faced Miss Parker and continued, "Your mother helped us develop a plan to rescue them. It was dangerous but Charles felt that, with your mother's help, he could pull it off."
"Where were you during all of this?"
"Emily was still a baby. I stayed behind to take care of her and prepare the loft for the boys. Charles had already set up their beds, but it was important to me that the loft feel like a home. I knew that, after being separated from us for so long, and enduring the life that had been forced on them, Jarod and Kyle would need to feel safe. Harriet and I spent hours washing clothes, bed linens and walls. We hung posters, placed stuffed animals, books, assorted colored paper and pencils near their beds, and . . ." Shaking her head, Margaret let her voice fade and wiped her eyes. Swallowing hard, she adopted a stronger voice and continued, "But they never came. Charles never came. Your mother never came. By the time night fell, I was frantic, so when your mother called at dawn, I almost jumped out of my skin."
"My mother contacted you?"
Ignoring Miss Parker's incredulous tone, Margaret nodded. "She told me that Charles had been shot and, even though she promised he would be cared for, all kinds of terrible things went through my head. When she said that I needed to take Emily and disappear, I heard myself accusing her of betraying us and threatening to make her pay for hurting my family. That was when your mother told me what she had done. Up until that moment, I had not realized that she had carried out her part of their plan and what it had cost her."
"What do you mean, her part?"
"Your mother was supposed to cause a diversion so that Charles could infiltrate the Centre."
"A diversion. You mean, like fake her death?" she spat. "My mother did what she did, abandoned and traumatized me, because she was trying to help you rescue Jarod and Kyle? I don't believe you."
"We had no idea how she planned to carry out her part of the plan," Margaret answered softly. "But, Charles was supposed to rescue Kyle, Jarod . . . and you. Catherine was very explicit about this. She said you and Jarod were very close and that Jarod would be able to convince you to go with them. Your mother was supposed to meet us at the farm, the next day, and all of us would disappear."
"But my mother didn't go to the Tashman farm, she went to a house in the woods, with Raines," Miss Parker countered, taking a few steps away from the other woman. Her eyes flew between Jarod, who still had his back to the room, to Sydney, "She had a secret meeting with Jarod and told him that I must continue her plan. She gave birth to Ethan and then Raines murdered her."
"I know."
As she paced the width of the room, Miss Parker desperately tried to make sense of the information she had just been fed. If what Margaret said was true, then the things Sydney had told her about her mother's faked death had new meaning. And, despite her eagerness to know the truth, Miss Parker was not sure she wanted to continue exploring her mother's intentions because, it seemed, every time she did, she discovered more than she wanted to know. Though the younger woman refused to make eye contact with anyone as she moved steadily across the room, she could feel the weight of Margaret's gaze. For the first time since meeting her, Miss Parker felt as if Margaret sympathized.
"Your mother did not abandon you, Parker," Jarod said, quietly breaking the heavy silence, "When she faked her death in that elevator, she believed she had done everything to ensure you would be safe. She wanted you to be safe. By the time she found out you were not, it was too late for her to undo what she had done."
Immediately, her eyes found his, in the reflection of the window. "You knew? You knew my mother planned to leave me with your family, and you didn't tell me?" Even as the accusations crossed her lips, Miss Parker was telling herself that she was a fool for thinking he would not revert to the mind games he'd played for years. "How long have you known, Jarod? How long have you been keeping this secret?"
"I just found out a few minutes ago," he answered, using a soft and apologetic tone.
She allowed him to hold her gaze, through the reflection, long enough to convince herself that he was telling the truth. Then, suddenly, Miss Parker jerked her head to the left and glared at Margaret.
"Why are you telling me this now? What does any of this have to do with the scrolls?"
"If you want to know about the forgeries, then you need to know how they came to be. May I continue?"
Miss Parker replied with a stiff nod.
"I did as your mother asked and left the farm without my husband. About a month later, she managed to contact me in Boston. First, she told me Charles had disappeared from the Centre before she could tell him how to find me. The news was devastating. I had no idea if my husband was still a prisoner, if he'd escaped and was trying to find me, or if he was dead. Your mother waited, patiently, as I dealt with the news, then told me she'd recently discovered why my boys were taken. She said it was only fair that I knew the truth."
Under her breath, Miss Parker repeated the last two words Margaret had spoken and shook her head. After wiping her face with her hands, she folded her arms in front of her and stared at the other woman. "Go on."
"Catherine and I only saw each other once more, but we spoke, on the telephone, several times over the coming months. Each time, she told me more about the scrolls and, soon, we were working on her plan to replace them with forgeries."
"Did Catherine tell you what was written in the originals?" Sydney asked.
"No," she answered, shaking her head. "All she told me was that they could be easily misinterpreted and that I should never read them."
"Then how could you be sure that what you were writing would help?"
"I couldn't," Margaret admitted, watching Miss Parker resume pacing, "but Catherine could. She said she knew enough to know the scrolls contained prophecies that would cause our children, and our children's children, to be prisoners their entire lives."
"Our children?" Miss Parker repeated, skepticism seeping into her voice, "Did my mother use the word 'our', or are you being dramatic?"
"I am telling you exactly what she said," she answered softly, "As strange as it may sound, your mother was as worried about you, Miss Parker, as I was about my boys. She was terrified of what that place, and your father, would do to you."
At the mention of her father, every muscle in Miss Parker's body stiffened.
Though she didn't see him, simultaneously, Jarod turned away from the window and quietly moved behind her. Placing his hands placed protectively on her shoulders, he ignored her startled response and leaned forward until their bodies touched. Suddenly, she felt herself relax. He said nothing but, in the time it took for her to release the breath she was holding, Miss Parker watched Margaret lower her eyes and back away.
"Your mother was trying to protect you," he whispered. "She was torn between protecting you and protecting Ethan. I believe that, if she had known about Lyle, she would have been trying to protect him, as well. She loved you, Parker, and everything she did, she did because she wanted a better life for her children. Some things just didn't go the way she planned."
"The story of her life," she whispered back, sadly.
"My mother has managed to find and replace all but one of the scrolls," Jarod said. Turning her to face him, he added, "She had been carrying them with her, all these years, because Catherine insisted that all the originals be destroyed at the same time."
"Why?"
"We don't know."
"All I know is that she said it was important that they be collected and destroyed as soon as possible," Margaret offered.
"And, yet, it took you more than three decades to carry it out," she snapped.
"The point is," Jarod interjected, raising his voice enough to keep his mother from reacting to the harshness of Parker's tone, "that the three original scrolls, as well as one forgery, are now sitting in a police station four hours away. If Alex, Cox, or anyone else from the Centre manages to get their hands on them, everything your mother did will have been for naught. We have to finish your mother's plan."
His last words made her look directly into his dark brown eyes. She searched them for a moment then, quietly, said, "You think destroying the scrolls was what my mother intended, when she told you I had to finish her work."
"We've known, all along, that your mother had a plan to save children," he said.
"So, we're the children she wanted to save. We're not children anymore, Jarod."
"No, we're not, but Catherine told my mother that destroying the scrolls would protect us AND our children."
"Which is why I must leave," Margaret said, abruptly interrupting the private conversation. "The sooner I claim my case, the better."
"Mom, I told you," he protested, moving slowly away from Miss Parker, "the police did their best to convince me you were dead because they believe it to be true."
"Well, I'm just going to have to convince them they were wrong, aren't I?"
"Exactly, how do you plan on doing that?" he dared.
"The case they have is mine. I can identify it, and every object inside."
"That's great. Were you listening, when Debbie told us the police have not been able to open the case? You can't identify something they can't see."
"I can open it. I am the only person who can open it."
"And you're willing to do that, in front of them?" he asked, after a slight hesitation.
Suddenly, Margaret fell silent.
Awkwardly, Jarod reached for the chair by the fireplace and began to lower himself into the overstuffed cushions. "We have to think of something else."
Miss Parker watched Jarod's slow movements and cocked her head to one side. When he let out a soft sigh as his body finally came to rest, she took a step toward him and asked, "You're in pain, aren't you?"
"I'm fine," he replied. His voice was rough and, though his eyes quickly darted from her to Sydney to Margaret, she noticed they lacked the sharpness they normally held.
"You're a liar."
"I just need to rest," he replied, leaning his head back. "In a few hours, I will be as good as new and I will take my mother to the police department."
"Like hell you will. If it's dangerous for your mother, it's suicide for you."
"She's right, Jarod. I told you, I can handle this on my own. In fact, if I leave now . . ."
"No." He looked up at Parker, and then at his mother, as they flanked him. "There are too many things that can go wrong and I am not willing to lose you. Not again."
"The longer we wait, the better the chances we will never get the scrolls back."
"I understand why you want to leave, but you have to believe me, it is not safe. Please, wait until tomorrow. My head will be clearer and . . ."
"Jarod, there is no guarantee you are going to be strong enough to do this with me tomorrow, either," she said, softly stroking his forehead. "You need to rest."
"As much as I hate to admit it, your mother is right," Miss Parker murmured. "You are in no condition to go anywhere. Someone else has to escort her."
"What are you suggesting?" he asked as she moved toward the fireplace. When she pulled her gun from its holster and checked the clip, his eyes widened and then he shook his head. "The two of you will kill each other before you get out of the driveway."
"Probably," she conceded, "but we don't have any other options, do we?"
"Of course we do," Sydney replied, moving to the space beside Jarod that Miss Parker had just vacated. "I will escort your mother."
"You?"
Miss Parker shook her head. "Absolutely not. You're needed here, Sydney, in case Jarod has a relapse or something."
"I would not suggest leaving, if I thought there was any danger of a relapse."
"Um, I don't know," Broots began, "but, it seems, to me, that Alex and Cox will probably have someone watching the police station. I mean, if they think Margaret had the scrolls with her, at the time of the accident, they might be doing the same thing we are. They might be checking the database for information about what was recovered from the crash."
"In which case, they know what has and has not been returned to me," Jarod finished, thoughtfully.
"Right," the technician nodded. "So, the police station isn't safe for any of us."
"Unlike Alex and Cox, though, we know, for a fact, that the scrolls are there," Miss Parker pointed out, "and we need to get them back. So, all we have to do is figure a way in, without being seen."
"Or, we could have the police bring the box to us," Broots offered, hesitantly.
"Last time I checked, they local law enforcement agencies weren't being subsidized by Federal Express," she snapped. "They don't deliver."
"They delivered to Jarod, at the hospital," the man pointed out.
"What are you suggesting, Mr. Broots?" Jarod asked.
"Well," he sighed, "you said, yourself, that the police think your mother is dead, right? That's why they kept bringing her things to the hospital."
"That's right," Jarod nodded, "They knew I was her son."
"How did they know? Did you ever tell them?"
"Well, no," the Pretender shrugged, glancing around the room, "I was unconscious."
"Right. So, until you came around, all they knew, for sure, was that you were in the car when it went off the bridge. They thought the items they were returning, were yours. After they found out your mother was in the car with you, and determined that she had died, they saw nothing wrong with giving you her things," he explained. Feeling more confident with each word, Broots moved closer to where Jarod sat as he continued, "When Emma told them you had been discharged, they had nothing else to do with what they found but lock it up and hope you came back for it."
"So, what's your point?" Parker demanded.
"What if they got a call, from someone they know, telling them they were wrong about Jarod's mother? What if they found out she was alive?"
"They would give me the box," Margaret answered, "But, haven't we been over this? Short of me walking into the station and opening it in front of them . . ."
"What about Emma?" he interrupted.
"What about her?" Jarod asked.
"If Emma called the police station and told them that a woman was brought into the hospital, rambling about the accident . . ."
"They would send someone out to investigate," Jarod finished. Turning his eyes on Parker, he asked, "It's not a bad plan. Alex and Cox have no reason to be watching the hospital. Do you think Emma would help?"
"Well," the woman replied, retrieving her cell phone, "there's one way to find out."
TBC
Feedback is a wonderful thing ;-)