A/N - I've rewritten parts of this and I owe all the added parts to Cassandra Due. Without her help, certain inaccuracies would have been in this fic.
De Profundis
by DOTLP
The drive home from The Centre seemed unusually long. Another late night had been spent in the pits of Hell. She couldn't even remember being home before eleven thirty and this night was no different. Finally, after an agonizingly slow fifteen minutes she pulled into her driveway. Dragging her tired body out of the car and up the short flight of stairs leading to her front door, she found the correct key and opened it. 'Odd how I can't find the right key to unlock all the secrets in my family history but I'm always able to find the right one to get into my house, even while groping in the dark,' she thought, a rueful smile forming on her lips.
She went inside and switched on the lights. Making her way over to her study, she switched on the computer and heard the satisfying hum as the machine came to life. Removing her weapon from the small of her back, she placed it near the keyboard. She sank gratefully into her chair and quickly retrieved the picture she and Jarod had received less than three hours ago.
Sighing, she did the only thing she could and stared at it, willing her mother's voice to give her some clue as to the significance of the photograph.
More than an hour had passed and she still continued to stare at the picture of her mother and Jarod's mother. To a casual on-looker it seemed as if she were lost in that picture, oblivious to everything around her. 'First one to the answer wins,' continued to play in her head like a stuck record. The shrill ringing of her phone snapped her out of her trance and she reached for the object near her computer, sighing a weary: "What?"
"Maybe we don't have to make this a competition, Miss Parker," the Pretender said softly.
"Why can't you leave me alone Rat Boy?"
'Because you mean a lot to me...because I love hearing your voice,' he thought, opting instead, to reply, "We both need answers and it seems as if we're both connected through our mothers whether you like it or not."
"Don't you mean whether we like it or not?" she demanded coldly.
"Must you always nit-pick everything to death?" he asked, annoyed that she had picked up on that and mad at himself for having allowed it to slip.
"I do when it comes to you! I've been forced into doing that because of all the crumbs you feed me and the many cryptic remarks you send."
"Well, I wouldn't have to do that if you'd just open your eyes and see what that place is," he retorted angrily, more at himself for his mistake, than at her.
"Don't you think I know? Don't you think I've seen all the horrible things they've done? I've experienced it first-hand. Remember Momma and Faith and Tommy?" Her voice was filled with hurt. "Can't you see that if I don't stay that I'd never find the answers I want, the answers I need?" She thought to herself, 'Can't you see if I don't stay you'll be in that hell? Don't you know I always know where you are? Where to find you? But I don't, because I can't bring myself to put you back there.'
"I'm sorry," he said softly with sincerity.
"Sure you are Jarod," she said sarcastically. "Go to hell!" She terminated the call. 'The Ice Queen strikes again,' she thought bitterly. 'It all comes down to survival.' She stood up, walked to the liquor cabinet and poured herself a drink. Walking back to the desk, a scotch in her hand, she sat down and continued staring at the picture, unanswered questions flowing through her mind. 'How did you two meet? What's the connection? Where were you two when this picture was taken? Why were you together and for what purpose?'
Without warning, all the power went out, leaving her floating in a sea of darkness. She quietly placed her glass down, drink untouched, and quickly reached for her gun, releasing the safety in a fluid movement. No sooner had she done that, than the distinct sound of glass breaking and a lock rattling reached her ears. She stealthily made her way towards the kitchen. Staying in the shadows she observed four Centre goons walk in, their guns at the ready and flashlights shining around the room.
Leading them was Willie. He gestured for the other three to search the house for Miss Parker. She was outnumbered, but she had the element of surprise on her side, not to mention a perfect knowledge of the layout of her house. She followed the one that was heading towards her room. When she was close enough, she raised her gun and brought it down hard on his head, knocking him out. He landed with a dull thud. 'One down, three to go.'
She backtracked and made her way to the beam of light bouncing in her sitting room. She saw him angling towards her computer table. Sneaking up behind him, she knocked him out. 'Two more.'
Willie heard a thud and went to find his companions. He found one in a room filled with paintings. "Hey James," he whispered, "did you hear that?"
"Hear what?"
Willie didn't continue. Instead, he fished for the phone in his pocket and called for back-up from the other man he had waiting outside Miss Parker's home, hanging up as soon as he had finished.
Miss Parker stalked towards the room that used to be her mother's studio. She saw Willie and another sweeper with their backs turned, sharing a whispered conversation.
"Let's go check it out," said Willie. The other man merely nodded and started towards the door.
She took aim, pulled the trigger and hit him. He fell forward. Willie turned around startled.
"Drop the gun and give me one good reason why I shouldn't kill you," she demanded icily, training her gun on his chest.
A deep foreign voice near her ear answered, "Maybe because I'll get to hurt you before you get to hurt him." She suddenly felt a strong pair of hands grasp her arms and wrestle the gun away from her, pushing her to the floor in the process. She got up quickly and lunged at the newcomer, pinning him to the ground, pummeling him with unleashed fury. Forgotten for the moment, Willie came up behind them, and pulled out a hypodermic needle and stuck it in her neck, emptying its contents into her bloodstream. A few seconds later she felt dizzy and started swaying. She continued to punch at the sweeper, each one becoming weaker than the one before. Unable to fight the effects of the drug any longer, she succumbed to the darkness.
======
She awoke only to find herself in an unceremonious heap on the cold floor. Pushing her upper body off the floor, she pulled herself into a sitting position and braced her back against the soothing coolness of the wall. She tentatively touched the sore spot on her neck - it was a bit swollen. The throbbing in her head made it difficult to think. She was grateful for the darkness in the room. It helped her to concentrate better. The voices in her head were louder than she had ever heard them. Straining to hear what was being said in the cacophony of voices, she caught bits and pieces: 'Brother...behind...kill...'
She heard footsteps a few minutes later. The door to her room was thrown open and all the lights switched on. Miss Parker winced from the on-slaught of unwanted external stimuli. Slowly her eyes re-adjusted and she saw a sweeper. Another sweeper entered, the same one who had snuck up behind her. She had managed to give him a split lip.
"Did you enjoy your nap?" he intoned.
"Absolutely. I love being forced into taking naps," she replied icily, glaring at him and ignoring the throbbing in her head.
"Tom, you know what your orders are," he said, directing his attention to the other sweeper. He turned on his heel and left without another word or look in Miss Parker's direction.
"Yes, sir, Mr. Derrick," Tom replied to the sweeper's retreating form.
Tom roughly pulled her off the floor and twisted her arms behind her back, deftly placing handcuffs on her wrists. He dragged her down the long corridor and stopped at a metallic door. Opening it, he threw her inside the dark room. Without her hands to keep her balance, she fell face-first on the floor, losing consciousness for the second time that night.
======
She couldn't quite make out the sounds, but they were what woke her from her dreamless slumber. The throbbing in her head had worsened. Her eyelids slowly fluttered open, only to be assaulted with bright lights. She quickly squeezed them shut. The fogginess slowly started seeping out and she was able to determine what the sounds were. She had heard them before. These sounds plagued her dreams each night. There was the sound of a gunshot followed by the screams of a little girl: "Momma! NO!!". She opened her eyes with more caution than before, if only to see if what she was hearing was real or if it had been all in her head.
From her prostrate position, she could see television monitors on the wall directly in her line of sight. She struggled to a sitting position. Every inch of the three walls she could see was covered with screens. Using her feet, she slid back until she made contact with the wall behind her. It, thankfully, had no screens. Somehow, the coldness of the wall was reassuring to her. She remained in that position, dumbstruck as she watched the same scene of her mother's death play over and over and over. It never stopped.
The grey glow from the monitors cast an eerie hue around the room. She watched them, transfixed. Even if she faced the wall behind her or closed her eyes, she couldn't block the images from pervading her mind. Gunshot. Screams. Gunshot. Screams. Gunshot. Screams. 'How many times have I seen this before now? Too many to count,' she answered herself.
======
"Where is she?" he barked at Derrick.
"In the room in SL twenty-five, just like you ordered."
"Good. Show me," he requested, pointing at the monitors in the surveillance room.
Nudging one of his colleagues out of the chair, the sweeper quickly located it himself and stated, "She's been in that position for the past three days. She hasn't touched any food we've sent."
"Hmm..." said the other man, regarding Miss Parker with her back against the wall, just staring at the screens in her room. "I think she will be willing to co-operate now," he continued thoughtfully. "Take me to her, and then leave us alone. When I'm in there, I want you to stop the audio from the DSA but leave the visual."
Together, the two men made their way through the maze that was The Centre. They stopped in front the door and Derrick moved to open it. He allowed his superior to go in, then shut the door behind him. Extracting the radio clamped at his waist, he ordered one of the other men in the surveillance room to cut the audio from the looped DSA.
======
"I hope the accommodations suit your tastes," he said smoothly, walking into the grey room.
She looked up, fire blazing in her eyes despite the situation. "What the hell do you want Lyle?" she ground out, her voice sounding a bit like sandpaper.
"Now, now," he began condescendingly, "is that any way to speak to the man who can help you out of this situation? I don't want you in here like this any more than you want to be in here."
She cleared her throat, and in a clear voice icily stated, "You put me in here, you lying son-of-a-..."
"Unh-unh-unh," he cut in, chiding her as if she were a child. "Remember, she was your mother too. But enough reminiscing." He gestured to the scene playing out around her. "And just so we're clear, this was Raines' plan. I merely carried it out and added a few finishing touches," he finished smugly, gesturing to the monitors once more. He watched her as she regarded him with open animosity. Stooping down to her level, he ran his gloved left index finger along her jaw-line. "You really are beautiful when you're angry." She turned her face away as much as she could in her cuffed condition, repulsed at the direction her twin's thoughts were taking.
He stood up and adjusted his jacket. Clearing his throat, he started, "Now. Down to business. Mr. Raines and I think that you are most capable of capturing Jarod. He thinks that you know exactly where to find him. Judging from the connection you had with Jarod when you were children I would have to agree with Mr. Raines. I saw a DSA Raines had of you when you were a little girl and you had just gone to see Sydney in his office in, I believe it was SL three at the time, to ask him where Jarod was. He said that he couldn't tell you. You walked out in a huff and went your own way. There was this surety in your movements...as if you knew exactly where Jarod was; as if there was something that drew you towards him. Another DSA showed that you found him half an hour later all the way in SL twenty-five Room two-two-one. This room, to be exact. How is it that a twelve-year-old girl could always find Jarod, even when she wasn't told where he would be?" he asked thoughtfully to no one in particular. "Now, tell me where Jarod is and we can both leave here happy. You'll get to go home and take a hot bath and The Centre would get Jarod back," he finished airily.
"Even if that were true now, and even if I knew, why would I tell you? So you could say you brought him in all by yourself and maybe become part of the Triumvirate? I know you're a power-hungry ass-kisser."
"Ouch! Sis, I'm hurt," he said mockingly, placing his hands over his heart. "But I can't deny it. Now, one more chance to tell me."
"I don't know," she said wearily.
"One last chance."
"I. Don't. Know. Or am I still going too fast for you to understand?" she said sarcastically.
"Well, I guess you don't know." He affected a sigh. "Pity you'd have to starve to death in here." He turned around to leave and took three steps, then abruptly turned to face her again. Whipping a gun out of his shoulder-holster, Lyle trained it on her. Her blue eyes widened at the realization of what was to happen. He squeezed the trigger and hit her temple. 'Even in death, she's beautiful,' he thought, looking at the maroon liquid oozing down the side of her head, marring her silver silk blouse. Her body slumped further down the wall, her blue eyes still open.
He walked back over to her and took out his handkerchief. He wiped all his prints from the Smith & Wesson nine millimetre and placed it in her hand. "You really shouldn't leave your gun lying around on the floor. Any old sweeper, like Derrick, could pick it up."
He went back to the door, opened it and left.
======
The old man picked up the phone wearily. "This is Sydney."
"Is Miss Parker there? I haven't been able to reach her. I spoke with her a week ago."
"You don't know?" the psychiatrist asked incredulously.
"Know what? Sydney what happened to her?" the Pretender asked, panic entering his voice, making it rise a bit after each word.
"She...she was found in her home with a bullet wound to her head. It was self-inflicted," he said clinically. He couldn't hold on to his emotions any more. "They found a note on her," he continued, his voice breaking. "All it said was: 'Don't hate me when I'm gone.' She's dead Jarod...gone." He broke down sobbing. "She was buried yesterday."
Jarod hung up, unable to speak, tears streaming down his face.
======
Clothed all in black, he stood in front her tombstone, a red rose in his hand. She was buried next to her mother's empty grave. He placed the rose on her grave and started speaking in a voice lacking his usual playfulness. Instead, it was filled with hurt. "I'm sorry Miss Parker. I'm sorry it had to end this way. I'm sorry I never got the chance to tell you how much you mean to me. I'm sorry you never had the chance to find true happiness."
And he wept. He wept because this was the way The Centre worked. This was how they ruined his life. It wasn't enough for them to have taken him away from his family. It wasn't enough that they had taken away his childhood. It wasn't enough that they had killed his brother. It wasn't enough that they had killed Tommy, his friend. It just wasn't enough. They had to take her too. He roughly wiped away the tears rolling down his cheeks and in a shaky voice began repeating the lines of a poem:
" ' You tell me that
silence
Is nearer to peace than poems .' "
The birds were softly chirping and a gentle breeze blew through Jarod's hair. The tranquility was just too much for him and he was unable to hold back his tears. He broke down, quietly sobbing, the rest of the poem forgotten.
Jarod was so absorbed in his grief that he wasn't aware someone had come up behind him. "I thought you'd come here sooner or later," the smug voice said. "Technology is a wonderful thing. It's good I had Sydney's phone tapped."
The Pretender turned his tear-streaked face to the source of the voice. Standing several feet away was Lyle. His voice trembling, Jarod managed to ask, "So, are you going to take me in now?"
"Why should I? Look at you. You're pathetic! Crying over my sister. What use would you be to The Centre? We were able to make a clone of you once. We're doing it again. So, we don't need you. All we needed was to lure you out. And, lo and behold, we have," he said with a satisfied grin.
"How could you do that? I'm going to bring The Centre down! I swear!"
"Temper, temper Jarod. We're not here for business. I'm here to pay my respects to my sister. Same as you."
"You're not here to 'pay' any 'respects' to your sister. You're here to gloat over her death. You don't have to feel threatened by her any longer. It was what you always wanted, wasn't it?" His voice trembled with rage.
"Ah, yes. Can't fool you, can I Jarod? I can still remember the look in her eyes when I shot her," he stated, goading Jarod on.
The Pretender's eyes flashed violently and he lunged at Lyle, all thoughts of reason disappearing. Lyle pulled out his gun and shot him three times in his chest. Jarod fell, face-first on the ground, over Miss Parker's grave.
"It's over Jarod," he said coldly. He turned and walked away, his grey trench coat billowing behind him.
Jarod lay there, clutching tufts of grass. 'Damn them! Damn them all to hell!' Glimpsing the rose a few inches from his right, he reached over and pulled it closer to his nose. His breathing became laboured and his eyes slowly drifted close. Surrounded once again by the chirping of birds and the rustling of the leaves, the rest of the words of the poem flitted through his muddled mind:
' But if for my gift
I brought you silence
(for I know silence)
You would say :
" This is not silence
This is another poem "
And you would hand it back to me .'
A small sad smile graced his features as the soothing sounds faded away and he drew his last breath. It was silence he and Miss Parker had given each other. The one gift they both gave just to save their lives. They were never able to say aloud what they so desperately felt for each other.
It was ironic how their silence killed them.
FIN
I know, I know! I always seem to kill somebody (ducks to avoid being hit by virtual books and garbage angry readers throw at her head). Think of it as my 'signature' or 'trademark'! *grin*