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Chapter I: The Sky Is Broken


The knocking at the door finally broke through her alcohol-induced daze. Miss Parker sat up on the couch, disorientated. The television was still flickering silently, and the room was dark. It was late, she realised, looking at the clock on the mantel, almost midnight. The bottle on the coffee table was almost empty.

She staggered to her feet, half-surprised to realise the gun was still in her hand, but she hadn’t shot herself yet. She managed to stumble over to the door and squint through the peephole, although she knew whom it was. She could see nothing. He probably had his finger over it.

Clenching her gun even tighter, she wrestled the chain off, flipped the deadbolt and flung open the door. She trained her gun on Jarod, who was standing humbly on the welcome mat that didn’t say ‘welcome’. Her aim wavered, but her intentions did not.

“Tell me why I shouldn’t kill you,” she said.

“Because I’ve done the right thing,” he said. He seemed so sad. He had pity in his eyes. She hated him for it.

“Given me a death sentence? Ensured a life in prison? Will you visit Sydney in gaol and pass him little red notebooks through the bars?” she asked, and slurred only a little.

Jarod reached out, and placed his hand over her gun. He tried to take it from her, and her finger slid over the trigger, with just a little pressure. “The safety is on,” he told her quietly. It was too, she realised. Miss Parker considered ways to get it off and still shoot him before he took it from her.

“How much have you had to drink?” Jarod asked. He stepped forward, forcing the gun down, pushing her back into the house. They grappled for a moment, and then he prised the weapon out of her grip. He discarded the clip, dropping it on the floor.

“That’s none of your fucking business,” she said. There was a heavy brass lamp on the console beside the door, and she eyed it as she said, “My whole life is none of your fucking business, and you’ve ruined it.”

Jarod kept moving forward, so Parker was forced to back up. Shusheushed the coat rack, knocking it over, sending her tripping backwards. He reached out a hand to steady her as she hit the coffee table and almost fell, and she slapped it away. “I haven’t ruined your life,” he said, “I don’t think you had a very good one to begin with.”

Miss Parker sidled away from him, past the television and towards the fireplace as he followed. She snatched up an iron poker, but he wrenched it away before she could get it anywhere near his groin, heart or face, and it clattered on the floor. She hissed with frustration, scrabbling across the mantel for the antique mantel clock. Jarod grabbed her wrist, and jerked her towards him.

“Listen to me,” he said; quiet and angry, “You’re safe. You’re free. You won’t be implicated; I’ve cleared anyone who remotely deserved it. You’re free, Miss Parker, so quit it with the martyr act!”

The crack of her hand on his face echoed in the silent room. He turned his head aside, his face shadowed in darkness. A brief, strangled sob escaped her, and one tear tracked down her cheek. When he looked up, she could see the stinging red mark on his cheek in the eerie light of the television. He still gripped her wrist tightly.

“How dare you,” she said, her voice taking on a hysterical edge, “Goddamn you, how dare you!”

She pulled her arm free and lunged at him, almost managing to get a stranglehold in his throat before he deflected her aim. Parker launched herself bodily at him, and he stumbled back, sprawling on the couch. She landed on top of him, pummelling his chest with her fists, pushing him to the floor. She heard his leg crack on the side of the coffee table, his soft yelp of pain, and ignored it. The vodka bottle rattled, tipped and rolled off the far side of the table, smashing on the floor. She cried and beat at him, and he grabbed both her hands and rolled her beneath him, pinning her with his body.

“Parker…” he sighed, so quietly she thought she might have imagined it.

Weak, tired and distraught, Parker finally stopped fighting him, breaking down into wrenching sobs. When Jarod shifted his weight off her, she curled away from him, onto her side, tucking up into a ball and weeping into her hands. She felt his hands on her shoulders, an attempt to comfort her, and ignored them, ignored everything but the terrible fear and emptiness inside.

Finally, blissfully, she sank into darkness, and passed out.


****


The grey light of dawn filtering through the window woke Miss Parker, accompanied by a pounding headache. She was in her bed, under the covers, with all her clothes on, facing the window. She shifted slowly, and promptly hit warm male heat. She craned her head to see; Jarod was under the covers with her, also fully clothed, sleeping like the dead.

She slipped out of bed, creeping around to where her gun rested on the dresser, fighting nausea. She eased out of the bedroom door, zeroing in on the clip that lay on the floor. She loaded the gun, clicked off the safety, and turned back to her bedroom. Jarod lounged in the doorway, watching her with dark eyes.

“What are you going to do with that?” he asked. She held it out in front of her, aiming for his heart. He gave a brief, bitter chuckle, “Take me back to the Centre? I can introduce you to the Agents who are tearing the place apart.”

Miss Parker’s grip on the gun faltered, and he strode forward angrily, stopping when the muzzle hit hisst. st. He put his hand over hers on the gun. “It’s over. Don’t you get it? You owe them nothing, now. I don’t have to run, and you don’t have to chase,” he said. His gaze softened, and he slid his hand up to hold her wrist, gently. “It’s over,” he whispered, “It’s over now.”

Miss Parker dropped the gun. It clattered to the floor between them. Her hand, her arm, her whole body, began to shake. Hot tears flowed down her face, and Jarod made a soft noise, drawing her into his arms. She wept against his shoulder, and he made shushing noises, stroking her back, holding her close.

“What am I supposed to do?” she asked between shuddering sobs.

“You can do anything you want,” Jarod murmured against her ear. One hand slid down to her lower back, smoothing across the line of her waist, and then travelling back up her spine. His lips brushed the shell of her ear. “You’re free now. We’re all free now.”


****


Jarod sent her into the bathroom. Miss Parker stood under the hot water and tried to wash the last thirty hours away. When that didn’t work, she got out, wrapped herself in a robe and braved her kitchen. Jarod was cooking eggs, humming to himself.

“You’re awfully cheerful,” she said, feeling drained in light of his energy. He pointed at the television, which was muted. It was the same as yesterday – the Centre, evidence, scandal, and the FBI. She gave him a quizzical look.

“The world is ending,” he said, with a little smile. He passed her a cup of coffee. She took it to the liquor cabinet, and put scotch in it.

“Am I going to be arrested?” she asked. Jarod shook his head, and she frowned, “Lyle will squirm. My name will be coming out of his mouth.”

“You’re dead,” Jarod said, with a small shrug, “For all intents and purposes, Miss Mina Parker and Dr Sydney Hallet died in a car accident six months ago.”

His use of her first name rolled over her like a slick chill. She could not remember the last time it had been said aloud. She put more scotch in the coffee, and took a swig for herself. “We’re a part of the Centre. We knew what happened there, even participated. Why not punish us for our sins?” she asked.

“I think you’ve been punished enough,” he said. He held a pan over two plates, scraping fluffy scrambled eggs onto fried toast. He sprinkled cheese over the top, and took them to the table.

Miss Parker eyed the domestic scene. Sitting down to breakfast with Jarod seemed intrinsically wrong. Her hand itched for her gun. He did not look at her, but said, “You must eat, Miss Parker. I’m sure you can get over who with.”

Ungracefully, she sat. The eggs looked wonderful, but she had no appetite. She pushed the food around her plate, and tension hung heavily between them. She dropped her fork with a clatter, and went back to the bottle of scotch. “Why now? Why not when you first escaped?”

“It has taken this long to gather evidence,” Jarod said, gathering up both their plates, even though he had not finished yet, “For the FBI’s investigation to get off the ground, to make sure the wrong people wouldn’t be notified of their progress, and the right people were being involved.”

Miss Parker looked at the television as he spoke. The line of text scrolling across the bottom announced that several members of congress were being arrested or investigated in connection to the Centre’s dealings. She personally knew a few senators who would probably end up in prison.

“I guess you’re finally free, once and for all,” Parker said. She knotted her fingers together, still uneasy.

“As are you,” he said

She skirted the carnage in her lounge, and went back to sit at the dining room table. Jarod followed, sitting opposite her. She did not want to look at him, in her home, at ease, stirring his coffee in a figure eight. It felt so normal she wanted to be sick.

“What will you do?” he asked.

“What can I do?” she said bitterly.

“You’re independently wealthy, you have an education, training…”

“Excellent references?” Miss Parker said with a smirk. Jarod smirked back. She looked away, and the silence dragged between them.

“I expect to find my family soon, we can come out of hiding now,” Jarod said, “I’m sure Ethan would like to see you.”

The silence stretched on again. Miss Parker finished her coffee, and stared at the bottom of the cup. “Where will you go?” she asked. Jarod sighed, and shrugged.

“I don’t know. Funny as it seems, I have considered living here, in Delaware, maybe even Blue Cove. After all this time, it still feels like the closest thing to home I have. The only place I’ve ever belonged,” he said, and chuckled without humour.

She considered reaching out and taking his hand, but didn’t know if she could bear it.

“I want to… to choose a profession, I guess. Settle down, quit the nomadic life. Make some friends I can keep for longer than a couple of weeks,” he said quietly.

“Picket fence and the two-point-five?” she asked dryly. He grinned, strangely self-deprecatory.

“Maybe. Steady job, a wife, and kids, an SUV. Can you imagine it?” he said, and shook his head.

“What job?” Miss Parker asked after a moment. He shrugged.

“I don’t know. It’s funny, despite all the jobs I’ve had over the last five years, I’m not actually *qualified* for anything. It would feel like cheating, to walk into a job with fake papers,” he said, and shrugged. He gave her a shy look, “I was… thinking about going to college. Doing it the old fashioned way.”

“Jarod, you could teach at college. You *have* taught at college,” Parker said, disbelieving. She gave a delighted chuckle, “You’d be bored stupid within a week!”

He grinned at her, and reached his hand across the table, taking hers, stroking his thumb across her knuckles. She looked down. It felt so unnaturally natural, as though it had always just been a matter of time until she and Jarod could hold hands without fear. As though the last five years had just been a dance until now. In that moment, she realised he had done it all for her, and hated him.

He drew his hand away, sensing the change in atmosphere, and stood up. “I’m going to take a shower, if that’s okay,” he said. She stayed at the table as he went out the front door, drinking her scotch from the bottle. He came back a moment later with a black bag slung over his shoulder. She said nothing as he disappeared into her bedroom, taking yet another hit from the bottle.

When Miss Parker felt pleasantly buzzed, she stood up and wobbled her way into her bedroom. The bathroom door was closed, and she could hear the water running. She opened the door, slipping into the clouds of steam. She could see Jarod through the clear glass of the shower door, his back turned to her, water sluicing over his long, lithe golden body. His head was tipped forward, and at first she thought he was standing still. After a moment of admiring his broad, muscular back and tight ass, she realised his arm was flexing rhythmically, his hand hidden in front of him.

He was jerking off, she thought, with mild amazement. In her bathroom, in her shower. Most likely, her mind hazily concluded, he was thinking about her.

She must have made a noise, because Jarod froze, and turned around. He looked at her through the glass, making no apologies for the fact that his hand was still wrapped around his erection. Miss Parker let herself look, let her eyes wander down his sculpted chest, down the hard plane of his abdomen, following the thin trail of hair that lead from his bellybutton to the thick curls that surrounded his erection.

As she watched, his hand travelled up in another stroke, and then pumped down again. Something inside her tightened, and she forced her gaze back to his. It was dark, aroused and measuring. He pushed the shower door open, stepped out from under the stream of water, and reached both hands for her.

In panic, Miss Parker turned and fled.


****


It took him almost three hours for him to find her. Miss Parker was sitting in her black boxster, parked on the side of a long, lonely road with an excellent view of the Centre. He didn’t ask before he sat beside her in the passenger seat. She was still wearing her robe, her hair dried soft and curly.

“You shouldn’t have been driving,” Jarod said quietly, “You probably have a blood alcohol level high enough to kill a cow.”

“What happened to my office?” she asked. From far away and up high, the Centre looked small. There were people and cars swarming all over it. The helicopters were gone, for now.

“Cleaned. Yours, Sydney’s and Broots,” Jarod said. He fished some photographs out of his pocket and passed them over, “I saved these.”

There were three photographs. One of her mother and her as a girl, one of Tommy, and Miss Parker paused on the last one. “Why did you save this one?” she asked, her voice filled with pain.

“He was your father,” Jarod said stiffly. He didn’t like it, but he had saved it. Miss Parker gazed at him curiously, and he went on, “Not your biological father, and he was never a decent parent to you, but you loved him. You loved him as your father, and it’s probably the closest you’ll get to one.”

The silence dragged between them. Miss Parker put the photographs on the dash, and didn’t look at them again. Finally, she said, “What’s happened to my baby brother?”

“He’s been taken to a safe house, like all the other children,” Jarod said. He gave her a searching look, “Do you wish to take him?” He knew her answer was no, she didn’t have to say it. He shrugged, after a moment, “He’ll be placed with a good family. I’m sure you can petition for access.”

She huddled deeper into her seat, her robe gaping a little at the front. Jarod looked away, flushing. “I’m sorry for what you… you saw, in the bathroom,” he said softly.

“I walked in on it,” Miss Parker said nonchalantly.

“I didn’t want to- I mean, it’s not like I-” Jarod closed his mouth. A helicopter went overhead.

“It’s really over, isn’t it,” she said finally. He nodded.

“The children are free, the bad guys are caught, the nightmare is gone,” he said warmly.

“What am I supposed to be now?” Miss Parker asked, and looked at him for the first time, “What am I supposed to do?”

Jarod clasped her hand. “You can have a normal life, the one you’ve always deserved. You can be anything you want. I will help you. I will give you anything you ask for,” he said earnestly.

“Anything?” she asked, measuring.

“Anything.”

She took her hand out of his, and looked straight ahead again. “I want you to leave me alone. If it’s really over, it’s over,” Miss Parker said, and folded her hands, “I don’t want to see you ever again.”

For almost a full minute, Jarod waited for the punch line. Then he got out of the car and walked away.

*