Disclaimer: All characters and events in this story are fictitious, and any similarity to a real person, living or dead is entirely coincidental and unintended by the author. I have no idea who owns the Pretender, or its characters; I just know it isn't me. No infringement is intended, I'm just playing with them, so please don't sue.
Guilty
by imagine
"Jarod?"
Startled from his thoughts, the Pretender turned suddenly. She moved toward him, then hesitated, her expression melting into concern as he shifted from one foot to the other. His dark eyes dropped and his hands nervously tugged at the hem of the blue plaid work shirt, smoothing it over his jeans before looking back in her direction. The fact that he never quite met her gaze was not lost on the woman but, in two steps, she was in front of him.
She took his hand and, as her fingers slid between his, he tried desperately to find his voice. Her touch was still new to him and though it was welcomed, he was unsure of himself and, regrettably, of her as well. Jarod felt like a child - timid and terrified of doing anything that might disappoint the woman in front of him.
"It's time for you to go," she said, calmly moving closer, "It's not safe . ."
"I don't want to leave," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can't."
"Oh, Baby," she murmured, rubbing his arms, "I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could explain why all this happened, but now is not the time. The longer we're together, the more danger you're in."
"How much danger are you in, if I leave you here alone? If we stay together . ."
"Listen to me," she interrupted, sliding her fingers over his lips to silence him, "I promise, I'll be all right, Jarod."
She kissed his cheek and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and buried his face in her neck, afraid that if he let her go, she would evaporate before his eyes. After a moment, the woman gently began stroking the length of his spine, calming him in a way no one else had ever managed.
"Trust me," she whispered, "We'll be together very soon."
"We're together now."
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms for a few more minutes, before she drew back far enough to look into his eyes. Pulling his left hand from where it rested on the small of her back, she perched her right hand in it so that the ring on her middle finger sparkled.
"Your father gave this to me on the day you were born," she told him, "Except for when he had the setting changed, and new stones added for Kyle and Emily, I have never taken it off. It connects me to you, Jarod, like my wedding and engagement bands connect me to your father, and like the Bible you saw inside connects me to our past."
He ran his thumb over the three stones and shook of his head. "It's not the same thing."
"No, it's not," she agreed, "but these things give me a sense of peace and a determination I don't know I'd have otherwise." She squeezed Jarod's hand, when he looked away, "You can understand what I'm saying, can't you?"
Lowering his eyes, he thought about the items he'd accumulated over the years. The photos, his father's medal and, in some warped way, even the DSA's meant the same to him as the rings meant to her. They were his encouragement to search for his family and to make them proud. Without the memorabilia, he would have lost hope years ago, so he definitely understood what the rings meant to his mother. What he didn't understand was why she seemed content to live with symbolic reminders rather than with the real thing.
Jarod moved to the porch railing, skimming the secluded area and, once again, watching for anything that might disturb their time together. The past eighteen hours would always be special for him, and as much as he wanted to protect her and preserve the few memories they'd built, history and his instincts told Jarod that the Centre would find a way to sour the reunion.
"I know you have questions," she told him, "but I can't answer them. Not now."
Feeling her hand on his back, the Pretender turned and saw the silent plea for him to believe that she knew what was best. He was sure that his leaving was hurting her as much as it was hurting him, and though he still didn't understand why she was insisting he go alone, Jarod found he was unable to continue the discussion. With a soft sigh, he took her hand and stared at the ring.
"Which stone is mine?" he asked.
"The middle one."
After a silent moment, running his finger over the gold setting and the yellowish brown gem, he raised his eyes to her.
"This is a Topaz," he said. When she nodded, he asked, "I was born in November?"
"At 3:23 am, on November 7th," she smiled.
*********
He tossed his coat on to the passenger seat and turned to face her. The tears he had been trying desperately to suppress were teetering at the edge of his eyes, threatening to release every emotion he was feeling. He had promised himself to abide by his mother's wishes, but the closer he came to leaving her behind, the more difficult he found it to accept.
"Here," she said, retrieving a small blue cooler from the porch steps and pushing it into his hands, "in case you get hungry."
"You didn't have to do this," he said, peering at the assortment of drinks, snacks and sandwiches.
"Yes, I did," she smiled, straightening the collar of his shirt, "It's a mother's job to make sure her children eat properly."
"Do I look like I don't eat?"
"No," she admitted, patting his chest with both hands, as she stepped back, "You actually look very healthy and I want to keep it that way."
Closing the cooler, Jarod slipped the container on to the floor of the car's back seat. When he faced her again, the sleeves of her sweater were pulled over her fingers and tucked tightly in her fist. Her shoulders were pushed forward slightly as she rubbed the outside of her arms with covered knuckles
"The temperature is dropping. Are you going to be warm enough?" she asked.
He smiled and nodded, letting her fasten the top buttons of his work shirt before bringing her hand to his lips. "I will be fine, Mom. Honest."
"Are you sure? I can get you . ."
"You're the one who's freezing," he grinned, "Why don't you go inside?"
She shook her head. "Not until you're safely on your way."
"Mom . ."
"Jarod, the longer you stand here arguing with me, the colder it gets. Now," she sighed and opened her arms, "give your mother a hug and a kiss that will last ..." her voice cracked and then faded as Jarod slipped his arms around her.
"I love you," he said quietly.
She pulled him closer, brushing her lips against his cheek and, in an apologetic voice, told him, "I know I didn't react the way you wanted me to, when you arrived . . ."
"It's all right," he nodded, hearing her voice crack, "I know you love me, too."
"I do," she promised. Allowing herself to hug him briefly, once more, Margaret gently pushed her son away. "and I'm going to miss you."
Tipping his head downward, she kissed him on the forehead and stepped back, telling him to be careful. Hesitating slightly, Jarod turned and pulled open the car door but found he was unable to force himself slide inside the vehicle. He stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly at the interior, his eyes filling with tears he was no longer ashamed to shed.
"I can't do this," he said, facing her. "Come with me."
She pulled away as he reached for her, but met his dark eyes with a shake of her head. "Jarod, we've been through this. I can't . ."
"Dad and Emily are in Vancouver," he continued, ignoring her protests, "I can take you to them. In less than forty eight hours, we can be a family. We can all be together."
"No," she whispered, dropping her eyes as she turned away, "I can't. It's not safe."
"I can keep you safe," he promised, "I can keep us both safe."
"If the Centre found out ..."
"They won't."
"Of course they will. They always find out and, when they do, they'll make life that much more dangerous for you and . . ."
"Why do you insist on giving them the power to keep us apart?" he snapped, suddenly annoyed with her protests, "Why won't you fight for our family?"
"Jarod, I'm not ..." Her words faded as quickly as the color drained from her face. She shook her head, dropping her eyes from his accusing stare for a moment before clearing her throat and trying again. "Baby, I've always tried to do the right thing. I never ... "
"I'm sorry," he croaked, his mind instantly registering the hurt expression on her face. He brought her gently to his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders and uttered a sincere, but rapid, apology. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Mom, I swear. I know you want us together and that you're only doing what you think is right."
He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on the side of her face, then bent his knees so they were eye level. "The Centre has manipulated us with threats and empty promises for far too long. They did their best to destroy our family and all I want is to put it back together. I promise that I can keep you ... us ... safe. Please, let me do this, Mom. Trust me to do this."
*********
After almost an hour of arguing, his mother finally agreed to the road trip and Jarod didn't waste time questioning her motives. He hoped that the idea of being a family again was too much for her to refuse but knew that, more than likely, she was just trying to appease him. In any case, he was thankful for the opportunity to spend more time with the woman and confident that he could convince her they were both safe.
Glancing at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, Jarod smiled. Life was good.
Yawning, Margaret pulled herself up in the seat and stretched. "Where are we?"
"We're about an hour from the State Line."
"We're still in Minnesota?"
"It may only measure a few inches on the map," he grinned, "but it takes several hours to cross."
"What time is it?" she asked, replying to his sarcasm with a smirk and a shake of her head.
"Eleven forty."
"I've been sleeping for over four hours. Jarod, I told you I would take over the driving at nine o'clock. Why didn't you wake me?"
"You needed the rest."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you were snoring," he laughed.
"First of all, I don't snore," she reprimanded lightly.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And, secondly," she continued, smiling at the grin plastered across his face, "you need to sleep. You've been up since before dawn."
"It's all right," he answered, "I've been functioning on little or no sleep for years."
The moment the words were spoken, he regretted them. He had not meant to worry her, and hoped that she would let his unintentional comment pass. Though his eyes were trained on the road, Jarod felt his mother's heavy stare and cringed. His mind raced, searching desperately for something to say, something to divert her from her thoughts of his life; but, before he could formulate a light comment, he saw her reach for him. He waited, watching her anxiously out of the corner of his eye, but the sympathetic touch never came. Instead, her hand hovered hesitantly between them for a moment, then, with a soft murmur that she was sorry, she brought it back to her lap.
"I'm all right," he whispered.
She shook her head. "We failed you. When you were taken . ."
"Yes, I was taken," he nodded, slipping his hand into hers. "I know you looked for me. I know you worried about me and I know you love me. What happened wasn't your fault."
"Then whose was it?" she challenged.
"The Centre's."
Squeezing his hand, Margaret looked out the window as a tree branch blew across the road. He felt her flinch and instinctively tightened his grip.
"Jarod, it's getting pretty bad out there. The roads in this area can get hazardous. How much further were you planning on going tonight?"
"There was a sign about a mile back that said there is a motel, restaurant and gas station at the next exit," he said, drawing his hand back to the steering wheel, "I thought we'd stop and get an early start in the morning."
She nodded, shifted in her seat and slipped into her jacket, but said nothing.
Jarod smiled softly, pleased with his mother's approval but disappointed that their conversation had taken such a dark turn. He didn't want misplaced guilt to overshadow their reunion.
Glancing in the mirror, his eyes lingered at the reflection a little longer than normal before shifting back to the road. No more than forty minutes before, he had taken a casual interest in a dark vehicle that appeared behind them and, now, though it had been keeping a respectable distance, it seemed the car had caught up. Still only mildly concerned by the advance, Jarod pumped his breaks, signaling the other driver that he was a little too close, and turned his eyes back on the road in front of them.
They were approaching a 'slippery when wet' sign when the high beams of the car behind them were activated. The unexpected glare bounced angrily from the rear view mirror, causing the Pretender to lift his hand as a shield. After a split second, he frowned and adjusted the mirror so the light was averted, then lowered his window and signaled the driver to pass them. Instead of honoring the request, however, the driver slowed and the high beams were extinguished. Curiously, Jarod stared at the car, trying to decide if the hairs on the back of his neck were standing for a reason.
"Jarod . ."
"It's okay," he promised, though he continued to concentrate on the reflection.
When they reached the center of the bridge, the car bolted forward, suddenly ramming Jarod's coupe violently enough to cause it to fishtail. He hit his head on the mirror, but despite the blood that began to trickle into his eyes, Jarod didn't have time to check the injury. A second impact, more powerful than the first, sent them bouncing off a cement post.
Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away a few feet and then flung it into drive while spinning the steering wheel toward the center of the bridge. The headlights behind them were doused, allowing the car to use darkness as a cover, but, a quick glance over his shoulder told him the sedan was approaching at a high speed. With a hasty jerk of the wheel, Jarod swerved from its path, quickly righting the skid that followed and, though he told his mother everything was all right, Jarod was finding it difficult to believe his own words.
The car skidded 90 degrees and came at them head on. Despite their attempts to distract him by flashing their lights vigorously between low and high beams, Jarod maneuvered out of their path, only to lose control a split second later on a patch of black ice. The Pretender worked feverishly, maniacally rotating the steering wheel while praying he wasn't applying too much pressure to the brakes. While he struggled for control, however, another blow from the side forced Jarod's car toward an already damaged piece of bridge. Thrust into the guard rail, the vehicle creaked and dipped forward, sending sparks and crumbling concrete into the water below.
*********
The water was so cold, it felt as if it were on the verge of freezing, and the shock her body felt at impact was almost enough to prevent her from exhaling and refilling her lungs before they were submerged. Luckily, the open window on the driver's side allowed her enough time to push the panic down and shift into survival mode. She knew that if Jarod had raised the window, things could have been much worse and she had every intention of taking advantage of the situation.
Despite her shaking hands, she managed to release her seat belt and squirm to her son's side as the water level reached their waists. She shook him, and his head bobbed to the side revealing several ugly bruises and a deep, bleeding cut on his forehead. Pulling him back, away from the now blood stained fabric of the air bag, she unclipped his seat belt, shook him again, and then dribbled water down the side of his face while frantically calling his name. He remained unresponsive, even after the car dipped forward, and then to the side, threatening to block their only exit.
Taking hold of her son under his arms, and ignoring her own injuries, Margaret attempted to push Jarod through the open window. His right leg became tangled with the seat belt, keeping him chained to the vehicle as it spun them against rocks, raising the level of water inside. She held her breath and sank below the waterline, her hands trembling as they deftly unwrapped the belt from his ankle and then shoved him upward, thankful for the weightlessness of water. With her hand still on Jarod's leg, she pushed once more against the seats, and propelled them both from the rapidly sinking vehicle.
Her legs pumped vigorously toward the surface, fighting the undertow and the churning water with one arm wrapped tightly around Jarod's chest. As their heads broke through into the fresh air, she exhaled with a loud, painful gasp, quickly gulping a mixture of stormy water and air into her lungs. She coughed, tightening her grip on her son and turned her face so that the next breath contained more oxygen and less of the river.
"Come on, Jarod," she murmured, holding him close as she fought the current, "We're almost there. Hang on."
It took more energy than she thought she had, but Margaret finally managed to tow her son to the shore. She dragged his still unresponsive body under the bridge, settling him beneath one of the supports and pressed her ear to his chest, holding her breath as she listened to his. It was shallow and labored, but, he was breathing and she rewarded him with a kiss on the forehead. He was unconscious and shivering as badly as she was, but he was breathing. As long as he was breathing, he had a chance.
*********
"911. What's your emergency?"
"Th-there's been an acci-accident," she stammered, pressing both hands around the phone. The wet chill she had felt coming out of the water had mixed with the frigid October air and left her with little feeling in her hands or feet. Her body heat was escaping quickly, which meant Jarod's was, too. "You ha-have to h-hurry."
"Calm down, Ma'am, and tell me what happened," the voice calmly requested.
"Accident," she gasped, her eyes darting behind her, toward the wooded path, "Route three bridge."
"There was an accident on the Route 3 bridge?" he repeated, "Are you hurt?"
She brought the phone closer to her ear and leaned against the booth for support. "S-send am-ambulance."
"It's on his way," he said, "Now, tell me where you are. Were you in the accident? Are you hurt?"
"J-just go to the b-bridge," she said, hanging up the phone, "Hurry."
Keeping her grip on the handset, she stared at the payphone for a long moment, then let her head fall against the hard plastic shell that surrounded it. The ambulance was on its way. There was nothing more she could do, without putting him in more danger; but the image of the pale, helpless man she had left under the bridge refused to dissolve.
Without lifting her head, she reached into the pocket of her jeans with a trembling hand and removed a man's billfold. Her shoulders slumped with more guilt, and though she could no longer tell the difference between her tears and the icy beads of rain that were whipping against her, Margaret heard the tiny voice of her conscience berating her for stealing from her son -- the son who might lose his life, because of her selfishness.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and pulled herself upright. In her condition, the parking lot that separated her from the motel and restaurant seemed miles long, and dotted with only a few cars. Her original plan had been to take one of the cars and to get as far away as possible, but she couldn't keep her eyes open and was shivering so badly that she could barely walk, let alone drive. Reluctantly, Margaret released the telephone from her grip, deciding to finally rely on her own shaky balance. With a firm grip on the wallet, she wrapped her sweater tightly around her chest and stumbled toward the motel.
*********
Eight hours later:
The wind and rain worked against her as she ran from the car to the glass entrance of the building. She had not bothered with an umbrella, knowing the force of the wind would make it useless. Instead, she had relied on the long, lined leather jacket, pulled tightly around her body, to protect her from the weather. By the time she reached the doors to the building, Miss Parker was soaked.
The fluorescent lights of the lobby flickered in deference to the lightening that simultaneously flashed outside, but she barely noticed. Quickly glancing around the foyer, she swiped her wet fingers through her even wetter hair and strode assuredly up to the front desk. Fishing the photo from the inside pocket of her jacket, she held it up to the male guard.
"I'm looking for this man," she said, without introduction, "I think he may be here."
The man stared at the photo for a moment, then motioned to a passing nurse and orderly. Miss Parker relinquished the picture and waited impatiently as the younger woman smiled at the image. Then, murmuring something to the orderly beside her, she handed the picture back to Miss Parker and introduced herself as Emma, indicating that the brunette follow her.
Once in the elevator, the brunette slipped out of the jacket. Her clothes were still more than damp, but without the heavy leather against her body, she could feel the warm air flowing from the heat register and her muscles relaxed.
"He hasn't been here long, how did you know where to find him?"
"I read an article in the early edition of the newspaper," she answered, draping the jacket over her arm, "The description fit."
With a gentle jerk, the car came to a stop on the third floor and they exited in silence. Keeping her arms crossed and buried beneath the fold of her jacket, Miss Parker easily navigated the quiet floor, matching her stride with Emma's.
"So far, nine patients have been admitted as a result of the storm. Your friend is one of them."
Her friend. It sounded odd, but, she supposed, that was exactly what he was. At least for the moment.
"He's in here, but he's been running a fever and slipping in and out of consciousness," Emma explained as they stopped in front a room situated across from the nurses station, "so, if he doesn't recognize you at first, don't take it personally."
"Wait." Miss Parker grabbed Emma's wrist, preventing the woman from reaching for the closed door. There were a multitude of questions running through her head: Was he going to be all right? When could she talk to his doctors? Had anyone else asked about him? Could he travel? Did he remember what happened? But, after a moment of hesitation, all she could manage was, "It's best if I go in alone."
With a soft smile and a bob of her head, Emma took a few steps back. "I have another patient to check on," she said, "but I'll be back in a few minutes, in case either of you needs anything."
Miss Parker waited until she was alone before pushing the door inward. It opened easily and the light from the hall illuminated just enough of the room to make her stomach clench. The bed was positioned parallel to the partially shaded windows, and the man's still form was silhouetted by a flash of lightening, giving a brief impression that he was draped in a shroud rather than a thin hospital blanket. She held her breath until the image passed, and then quietly crossed to his side, fearfully aware that the air was becoming thicker with each step. By the time she reached the bed, Miss Parker was holding her breath.
"Oh, Jarod, I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Tentatively, she brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then rested the hand on his chest. He was pale and looked much more frail than she had ever known him to be. His steady, but shallow, breaths were reassuring but, after a few moments, she drew her hand from his heart and moved from the bed. With her back to him, Miss Parker retrieved her cell phone from the pocket of her jacket and punched the appropriate speed dial. While she listened to the ringing on the other end, she spread the blinds apart with one hand and stared through the slats.
"It's me," she said, as way of greeting, when the call was answered.
"Miss Parker, Lyle has been looking for you. He has a lead on Jarod and . . ."
"What kind of lead?"
She dropped her eyes from the storm and focused on the man in bed. As if he had been waiting for her to pay attention to him, Jarod stirred, letting out a soft moan as his back arched slightly and then relaxed.
"Jarod left a Milwaukee newspaper and an airline ticket receipt in his lair in San Diego. Lyle is preparing the jet ..."
"Been there, done that," she sighed, lowering herself into one of the hard hospital chairs that was situated beside the bed, "Jarod is not in Milwaukee."
He waited a few seconds for the woman to continue. When she was silent, Sydney dropped his voice and worriedly asked, "Where are you?"
"I'm at a hospital about five hours Northwest of Minneapolis. I may actually be in North Dakota," she said, tiredly, "I'm not sure."
She watched her hand find its way between the bars of the bed railing and around Jarod's hand. The unexpected touch seemed to confuse him a moment, his brow crinkling in his sleep. She waited, using her thumb to softly rub the outside of his fingers, silently urging them to close around hers.
"You're at a hospital? Are you all right, Miss Parker? Has something happened?"
"I'm fine Syd," she whispered, as the Pretender gripped her hand, "but, yes, there's been an accident."
*********
Tears and sweat were rolling down the sides of his face. His head tossed restlessly from side to side while his arms and legs pushed away the blankets that covered him. He called out twice, incoherent but urgent sounds that finally gave her the courage to attempt to console him.
"Jarod," she whispered, laying her hand on his arm, "everything is all right."
He whimpered, awkwardly fighting her touch by flinging a weak fist in her direction. She retaliated by taking his hand in hers and sliding her body to the top of the bed. Pulling him toward her, she held him firmly, reminding herself that it was the fever striking out, not the man.
"Everything is all right," she repeated, keeping her voice low.
Though Jarod's body trembled against her, and his pleading faded, she continued to hold him, rocking the man she'd known her entire life as if he were a toddler with a skinned knee. She reached across his body, bringing the blanket to his shoulders as a dim, yellowish light cascaded into the room. Startled by the glow, she turned abruptly toward the door, relaxing slightly when she identified Emma stepping across the threshold.
"Bad dream," she said simply, answering the unspoken question, then turned her attention back on the man in her arms.
Jarod twitched, his muscles tensing and his back arching in response to something only he saw and, immediately, Miss Parker slid one hand under the blanket. Stroking the inside of his arm softly, she promised he was safe and, after a few moments, Jarod quieted. When his breaths were even, she slowly slid him back to the pillows and rose from the bed, watching protectively until Jarod shifted into a more comfortable position.
"You're good for him," a soft voice remarked.
Startled, Miss Parker pulled her hand from Jarod's arm and spun toward the voice, surprised to find the nurse still standing in the doorway. Unaffected by the glare that was focused on her, Emma crossed to the far side of the bed and placed her fingers on Jarod's wrist.
Lowering her eyes to the second hand of her watch, the nurse added, "Last time, it took two of us, and a sedative, to calm him, but you ..."
Keeping silent count of Jarod's pulse, the nurse looked up, letting her words fade as the brunette disappeared wordlessly into the hall.
Guilty
by imagine
"Jarod?"
Startled from his thoughts, the Pretender turned suddenly. She moved toward him, then hesitated, her expression melting into concern as he shifted from one foot to the other. His dark eyes dropped and his hands nervously tugged at the hem of the blue plaid work shirt, smoothing it over his jeans before looking back in her direction. The fact that he never quite met her gaze was not lost on the woman but, in two steps, she was in front of him.
She took his hand and, as her fingers slid between his, he tried desperately to find his voice. Her touch was still new to him and though it was welcomed, he was unsure of himself and, regrettably, of her as well. Jarod felt like a child - timid and terrified of doing anything that might disappoint the woman in front of him.
"It's time for you to go," she said, calmly moving closer, "It's not safe . ."
"I don't want to leave," he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper, "I can't."
"Oh, Baby," she murmured, rubbing his arms, "I wish I could tell you everything. I wish I could explain why all this happened, but now is not the time. The longer we're together, the more danger you're in."
"How much danger are you in, if I leave you here alone? If we stay together . ."
"Listen to me," she interrupted, sliding her fingers over his lips to silence him, "I promise, I'll be all right, Jarod."
She kissed his cheek and tried to pull away, but he tightened his grip and buried his face in her neck, afraid that if he let her go, she would evaporate before his eyes. After a moment, the woman gently began stroking the length of his spine, calming him in a way no one else had ever managed.
"Trust me," she whispered, "We'll be together very soon."
"We're together now."
They stood there, wrapped in each other's arms for a few more minutes, before she drew back far enough to look into his eyes. Pulling his left hand from where it rested on the small of her back, she perched her right hand in it so that the ring on her middle finger sparkled.
"Your father gave this to me on the day you were born," she told him, "Except for when he had the setting changed, and new stones added for Kyle and Emily, I have never taken it off. It connects me to you, Jarod, like my wedding and engagement bands connect me to your father, and like the Bible you saw inside connects me to our past."
He ran his thumb over the three stones and shook of his head. "It's not the same thing."
"No, it's not," she agreed, "but these things give me a sense of peace and a determination I don't know I'd have otherwise." She squeezed Jarod's hand, when he looked away, "You can understand what I'm saying, can't you?"
Lowering his eyes, he thought about the items he'd accumulated over the years. The photos, his father's medal and, in some warped way, even the DSA's meant the same to him as the rings meant to her. They were his encouragement to search for his family and to make them proud. Without the memorabilia, he would have lost hope years ago, so he definitely understood what the rings meant to his mother. What he didn't understand was why she seemed content to live with symbolic reminders rather than with the real thing.
Jarod moved to the porch railing, skimming the secluded area and, once again, watching for anything that might disturb their time together. The past eighteen hours would always be special for him, and as much as he wanted to protect her and preserve the few memories they'd built, history and his instincts told Jarod that the Centre would find a way to sour the reunion.
"I know you have questions," she told him, "but I can't answer them. Not now."
Feeling her hand on his back, the Pretender turned and saw the silent plea for him to believe that she knew what was best. He was sure that his leaving was hurting her as much as it was hurting him, and though he still didn't understand why she was insisting he go alone, Jarod found he was unable to continue the discussion. With a soft sigh, he took her hand and stared at the ring.
"Which stone is mine?" he asked.
"The middle one."
After a silent moment, running his finger over the gold setting and the yellowish brown gem, he raised his eyes to her.
"This is a Topaz," he said. When she nodded, he asked, "I was born in November?"
"At 3:23 am, on November 7th," she smiled.
*********
He tossed his coat on to the passenger seat and turned to face her. The tears he had been trying desperately to suppress were teetering at the edge of his eyes, threatening to release every emotion he was feeling. He had promised himself to abide by his mother's wishes, but the closer he came to leaving her behind, the more difficult he found it to accept.
"Here," she said, retrieving a small blue cooler from the porch steps and pushing it into his hands, "in case you get hungry."
"You didn't have to do this," he said, peering at the assortment of drinks, snacks and sandwiches.
"Yes, I did," she smiled, straightening the collar of his shirt, "It's a mother's job to make sure her children eat properly."
"Do I look like I don't eat?"
"No," she admitted, patting his chest with both hands, as she stepped back, "You actually look very healthy and I want to keep it that way."
Closing the cooler, Jarod slipped the container on to the floor of the car's back seat. When he faced her again, the sleeves of her sweater were pulled over her fingers and tucked tightly in her fist. Her shoulders were pushed forward slightly as she rubbed the outside of her arms with covered knuckles
"The temperature is dropping. Are you going to be warm enough?" she asked.
He smiled and nodded, letting her fasten the top buttons of his work shirt before bringing her hand to his lips. "I will be fine, Mom. Honest."
"Are you sure? I can get you . ."
"You're the one who's freezing," he grinned, "Why don't you go inside?"
She shook her head. "Not until you're safely on your way."
"Mom . ."
"Jarod, the longer you stand here arguing with me, the colder it gets. Now," she sighed and opened her arms, "give your mother a hug and a kiss that will last ..." her voice cracked and then faded as Jarod slipped his arms around her.
"I love you," he said quietly.
She pulled him closer, brushing her lips against his cheek and, in an apologetic voice, told him, "I know I didn't react the way you wanted me to, when you arrived . . ."
"It's all right," he nodded, hearing her voice crack, "I know you love me, too."
"I do," she promised. Allowing herself to hug him briefly, once more, Margaret gently pushed her son away. "and I'm going to miss you."
Tipping his head downward, she kissed him on the forehead and stepped back, telling him to be careful. Hesitating slightly, Jarod turned and pulled open the car door but found he was unable to force himself slide inside the vehicle. He stood there for a few seconds, staring blankly at the interior, his eyes filling with tears he was no longer ashamed to shed.
"I can't do this," he said, facing her. "Come with me."
She pulled away as he reached for her, but met his dark eyes with a shake of her head. "Jarod, we've been through this. I can't . ."
"Dad and Emily are in Vancouver," he continued, ignoring her protests, "I can take you to them. In less than forty eight hours, we can be a family. We can all be together."
"No," she whispered, dropping her eyes as she turned away, "I can't. It's not safe."
"I can keep you safe," he promised, "I can keep us both safe."
"If the Centre found out ..."
"They won't."
"Of course they will. They always find out and, when they do, they'll make life that much more dangerous for you and . . ."
"Why do you insist on giving them the power to keep us apart?" he snapped, suddenly annoyed with her protests, "Why won't you fight for our family?"
"Jarod, I'm not ..." Her words faded as quickly as the color drained from her face. She shook her head, dropping her eyes from his accusing stare for a moment before clearing her throat and trying again. "Baby, I've always tried to do the right thing. I never ... "
"I'm sorry," he croaked, his mind instantly registering the hurt expression on her face. He brought her gently to his chest, wrapping his arms protectively around her shoulders and uttered a sincere, but rapid, apology. "I didn't mean that the way it sounded, Mom, I swear. I know you want us together and that you're only doing what you think is right."
He placed one hand on her shoulder and the other on the side of her face, then bent his knees so they were eye level. "The Centre has manipulated us with threats and empty promises for far too long. They did their best to destroy our family and all I want is to put it back together. I promise that I can keep you ... us ... safe. Please, let me do this, Mom. Trust me to do this."
*********
After almost an hour of arguing, his mother finally agreed to the road trip and Jarod didn't waste time questioning her motives. He hoped that the idea of being a family again was too much for her to refuse but knew that, more than likely, she was just trying to appease him. In any case, he was thankful for the opportunity to spend more time with the woman and confident that he could convince her they were both safe.
Glancing at the woman sleeping peacefully beside him, Jarod smiled. Life was good.
Yawning, Margaret pulled herself up in the seat and stretched. "Where are we?"
"We're about an hour from the State Line."
"We're still in Minnesota?"
"It may only measure a few inches on the map," he grinned, "but it takes several hours to cross."
"What time is it?" she asked, replying to his sarcasm with a smirk and a shake of her head.
"Eleven forty."
"I've been sleeping for over four hours. Jarod, I told you I would take over the driving at nine o'clock. Why didn't you wake me?"
"You needed the rest."
"Why would you think that?"
"Because you were snoring," he laughed.
"First of all, I don't snore," she reprimanded lightly.
"Yes, Ma'am."
"And, secondly," she continued, smiling at the grin plastered across his face, "you need to sleep. You've been up since before dawn."
"It's all right," he answered, "I've been functioning on little or no sleep for years."
The moment the words were spoken, he regretted them. He had not meant to worry her, and hoped that she would let his unintentional comment pass. Though his eyes were trained on the road, Jarod felt his mother's heavy stare and cringed. His mind raced, searching desperately for something to say, something to divert her from her thoughts of his life; but, before he could formulate a light comment, he saw her reach for him. He waited, watching her anxiously out of the corner of his eye, but the sympathetic touch never came. Instead, her hand hovered hesitantly between them for a moment, then, with a soft murmur that she was sorry, she brought it back to her lap.
"I'm all right," he whispered.
She shook her head. "We failed you. When you were taken . ."
"Yes, I was taken," he nodded, slipping his hand into hers. "I know you looked for me. I know you worried about me and I know you love me. What happened wasn't your fault."
"Then whose was it?" she challenged.
"The Centre's."
Squeezing his hand, Margaret looked out the window as a tree branch blew across the road. He felt her flinch and instinctively tightened his grip.
"Jarod, it's getting pretty bad out there. The roads in this area can get hazardous. How much further were you planning on going tonight?"
"There was a sign about a mile back that said there is a motel, restaurant and gas station at the next exit," he said, drawing his hand back to the steering wheel, "I thought we'd stop and get an early start in the morning."
She nodded, shifted in her seat and slipped into her jacket, but said nothing.
Jarod smiled softly, pleased with his mother's approval but disappointed that their conversation had taken such a dark turn. He didn't want misplaced guilt to overshadow their reunion.
Glancing in the mirror, his eyes lingered at the reflection a little longer than normal before shifting back to the road. No more than forty minutes before, he had taken a casual interest in a dark vehicle that appeared behind them and, now, though it had been keeping a respectable distance, it seemed the car had caught up. Still only mildly concerned by the advance, Jarod pumped his breaks, signaling the other driver that he was a little too close, and turned his eyes back on the road in front of them.
They were approaching a 'slippery when wet' sign when the high beams of the car behind them were activated. The unexpected glare bounced angrily from the rear view mirror, causing the Pretender to lift his hand as a shield. After a split second, he frowned and adjusted the mirror so the light was averted, then lowered his window and signaled the driver to pass them. Instead of honoring the request, however, the driver slowed and the high beams were extinguished. Curiously, Jarod stared at the car, trying to decide if the hairs on the back of his neck were standing for a reason.
"Jarod . ."
"It's okay," he promised, though he continued to concentrate on the reflection.
When they reached the center of the bridge, the car bolted forward, suddenly ramming Jarod's coupe violently enough to cause it to fishtail. He hit his head on the mirror, but despite the blood that began to trickle into his eyes, Jarod didn't have time to check the injury. A second impact, more powerful than the first, sent them bouncing off a cement post.
Throwing the car into reverse, he backed away a few feet and then flung it into drive while spinning the steering wheel toward the center of the bridge. The headlights behind them were doused, allowing the car to use darkness as a cover, but, a quick glance over his shoulder told him the sedan was approaching at a high speed. With a hasty jerk of the wheel, Jarod swerved from its path, quickly righting the skid that followed and, though he told his mother everything was all right, Jarod was finding it difficult to believe his own words.
The car skidded 90 degrees and came at them head on. Despite their attempts to distract him by flashing their lights vigorously between low and high beams, Jarod maneuvered out of their path, only to lose control a split second later on a patch of black ice. The Pretender worked feverishly, maniacally rotating the steering wheel while praying he wasn't applying too much pressure to the brakes. While he struggled for control, however, another blow from the side forced Jarod's car toward an already damaged piece of bridge. Thrust into the guard rail, the vehicle creaked and dipped forward, sending sparks and crumbling concrete into the water below.
*********
The water was so cold, it felt as if it were on the verge of freezing, and the shock her body felt at impact was almost enough to prevent her from exhaling and refilling her lungs before they were submerged. Luckily, the open window on the driver's side allowed her enough time to push the panic down and shift into survival mode. She knew that if Jarod had raised the window, things could have been much worse and she had every intention of taking advantage of the situation.
Despite her shaking hands, she managed to release her seat belt and squirm to her son's side as the water level reached their waists. She shook him, and his head bobbed to the side revealing several ugly bruises and a deep, bleeding cut on his forehead. Pulling him back, away from the now blood stained fabric of the air bag, she unclipped his seat belt, shook him again, and then dribbled water down the side of his face while frantically calling his name. He remained unresponsive, even after the car dipped forward, and then to the side, threatening to block their only exit.
Taking hold of her son under his arms, and ignoring her own injuries, Margaret attempted to push Jarod through the open window. His right leg became tangled with the seat belt, keeping him chained to the vehicle as it spun them against rocks, raising the level of water inside. She held her breath and sank below the waterline, her hands trembling as they deftly unwrapped the belt from his ankle and then shoved him upward, thankful for the weightlessness of water. With her hand still on Jarod's leg, she pushed once more against the seats, and propelled them both from the rapidly sinking vehicle.
Her legs pumped vigorously toward the surface, fighting the undertow and the churning water with one arm wrapped tightly around Jarod's chest. As their heads broke through into the fresh air, she exhaled with a loud, painful gasp, quickly gulping a mixture of stormy water and air into her lungs. She coughed, tightening her grip on her son and turned her face so that the next breath contained more oxygen and less of the river.
"Come on, Jarod," she murmured, holding him close as she fought the current, "We're almost there. Hang on."
It took more energy than she thought she had, but Margaret finally managed to tow her son to the shore. She dragged his still unresponsive body under the bridge, settling him beneath one of the supports and pressed her ear to his chest, holding her breath as she listened to his. It was shallow and labored, but, he was breathing and she rewarded him with a kiss on the forehead. He was unconscious and shivering as badly as she was, but he was breathing. As long as he was breathing, he had a chance.
*********
"911. What's your emergency?"
"Th-there's been an acci-accident," she stammered, pressing both hands around the phone. The wet chill she had felt coming out of the water had mixed with the frigid October air and left her with little feeling in her hands or feet. Her body heat was escaping quickly, which meant Jarod's was, too. "You ha-have to h-hurry."
"Calm down, Ma'am, and tell me what happened," the voice calmly requested.
"Accident," she gasped, her eyes darting behind her, toward the wooded path, "Route three bridge."
"There was an accident on the Route 3 bridge?" he repeated, "Are you hurt?"
She brought the phone closer to her ear and leaned against the booth for support. "S-send am-ambulance."
"It's on his way," he said, "Now, tell me where you are. Were you in the accident? Are you hurt?"
"J-just go to the b-bridge," she said, hanging up the phone, "Hurry."
Keeping her grip on the handset, she stared at the payphone for a long moment, then let her head fall against the hard plastic shell that surrounded it. The ambulance was on its way. There was nothing more she could do, without putting him in more danger; but the image of the pale, helpless man she had left under the bridge refused to dissolve.
Without lifting her head, she reached into the pocket of her jeans with a trembling hand and removed a man's billfold. Her shoulders slumped with more guilt, and though she could no longer tell the difference between her tears and the icy beads of rain that were whipping against her, Margaret heard the tiny voice of her conscience berating her for stealing from her son -- the son who might lose his life, because of her selfishness.
Taking a deep breath, she wiped her eyes and pulled herself upright. In her condition, the parking lot that separated her from the motel and restaurant seemed miles long, and dotted with only a few cars. Her original plan had been to take one of the cars and to get as far away as possible, but she couldn't keep her eyes open and was shivering so badly that she could barely walk, let alone drive. Reluctantly, Margaret released the telephone from her grip, deciding to finally rely on her own shaky balance. With a firm grip on the wallet, she wrapped her sweater tightly around her chest and stumbled toward the motel.
*********
Eight hours later:
The wind and rain worked against her as she ran from the car to the glass entrance of the building. She had not bothered with an umbrella, knowing the force of the wind would make it useless. Instead, she had relied on the long, lined leather jacket, pulled tightly around her body, to protect her from the weather. By the time she reached the doors to the building, Miss Parker was soaked.
The fluorescent lights of the lobby flickered in deference to the lightening that simultaneously flashed outside, but she barely noticed. Quickly glancing around the foyer, she swiped her wet fingers through her even wetter hair and strode assuredly up to the front desk. Fishing the photo from the inside pocket of her jacket, she held it up to the male guard.
"I'm looking for this man," she said, without introduction, "I think he may be here."
The man stared at the photo for a moment, then motioned to a passing nurse and orderly. Miss Parker relinquished the picture and waited impatiently as the younger woman smiled at the image. Then, murmuring something to the orderly beside her, she handed the picture back to Miss Parker and introduced herself as Emma, indicating that the brunette follow her.
Once in the elevator, the brunette slipped out of the jacket. Her clothes were still more than damp, but without the heavy leather against her body, she could feel the warm air flowing from the heat register and her muscles relaxed.
"He hasn't been here long, how did you know where to find him?"
"I read an article in the early edition of the newspaper," she answered, draping the jacket over her arm, "The description fit."
With a gentle jerk, the car came to a stop on the third floor and they exited in silence. Keeping her arms crossed and buried beneath the fold of her jacket, Miss Parker easily navigated the quiet floor, matching her stride with Emma's.
"So far, nine patients have been admitted as a result of the storm. Your friend is one of them."
Her friend. It sounded odd, but, she supposed, that was exactly what he was. At least for the moment.
"He's in here, but he's been running a fever and slipping in and out of consciousness," Emma explained as they stopped in front a room situated across from the nurses station, "so, if he doesn't recognize you at first, don't take it personally."
"Wait." Miss Parker grabbed Emma's wrist, preventing the woman from reaching for the closed door. There were a multitude of questions running through her head: Was he going to be all right? When could she talk to his doctors? Had anyone else asked about him? Could he travel? Did he remember what happened? But, after a moment of hesitation, all she could manage was, "It's best if I go in alone."
With a soft smile and a bob of her head, Emma took a few steps back. "I have another patient to check on," she said, "but I'll be back in a few minutes, in case either of you needs anything."
Miss Parker waited until she was alone before pushing the door inward. It opened easily and the light from the hall illuminated just enough of the room to make her stomach clench. The bed was positioned parallel to the partially shaded windows, and the man's still form was silhouetted by a flash of lightening, giving a brief impression that he was draped in a shroud rather than a thin hospital blanket. She held her breath until the image passed, and then quietly crossed to his side, fearfully aware that the air was becoming thicker with each step. By the time she reached the bed, Miss Parker was holding her breath.
"Oh, Jarod, I'm so sorry," she whispered.
Tentatively, she brushed her fingers down the side of his face, then rested the hand on his chest. He was pale and looked much more frail than she had ever known him to be. His steady, but shallow, breaths were reassuring but, after a few moments, she drew her hand from his heart and moved from the bed. With her back to him, Miss Parker retrieved her cell phone from the pocket of her jacket and punched the appropriate speed dial. While she listened to the ringing on the other end, she spread the blinds apart with one hand and stared through the slats.
"It's me," she said, as way of greeting, when the call was answered.
"Miss Parker, Lyle has been looking for you. He has a lead on Jarod and . . ."
"What kind of lead?"
She dropped her eyes from the storm and focused on the man in bed. As if he had been waiting for her to pay attention to him, Jarod stirred, letting out a soft moan as his back arched slightly and then relaxed.
"Jarod left a Milwaukee newspaper and an airline ticket receipt in his lair in San Diego. Lyle is preparing the jet ..."
"Been there, done that," she sighed, lowering herself into one of the hard hospital chairs that was situated beside the bed, "Jarod is not in Milwaukee."
He waited a few seconds for the woman to continue. When she was silent, Sydney dropped his voice and worriedly asked, "Where are you?"
"I'm at a hospital about five hours Northwest of Minneapolis. I may actually be in North Dakota," she said, tiredly, "I'm not sure."
She watched her hand find its way between the bars of the bed railing and around Jarod's hand. The unexpected touch seemed to confuse him a moment, his brow crinkling in his sleep. She waited, using her thumb to softly rub the outside of his fingers, silently urging them to close around hers.
"You're at a hospital? Are you all right, Miss Parker? Has something happened?"
"I'm fine Syd," she whispered, as the Pretender gripped her hand, "but, yes, there's been an accident."
*********
Tears and sweat were rolling down the sides of his face. His head tossed restlessly from side to side while his arms and legs pushed away the blankets that covered him. He called out twice, incoherent but urgent sounds that finally gave her the courage to attempt to console him.
"Jarod," she whispered, laying her hand on his arm, "everything is all right."
He whimpered, awkwardly fighting her touch by flinging a weak fist in her direction. She retaliated by taking his hand in hers and sliding her body to the top of the bed. Pulling him toward her, she held him firmly, reminding herself that it was the fever striking out, not the man.
"Everything is all right," she repeated, keeping her voice low.
Though Jarod's body trembled against her, and his pleading faded, she continued to hold him, rocking the man she'd known her entire life as if he were a toddler with a skinned knee. She reached across his body, bringing the blanket to his shoulders as a dim, yellowish light cascaded into the room. Startled by the glow, she turned abruptly toward the door, relaxing slightly when she identified Emma stepping across the threshold.
"Bad dream," she said simply, answering the unspoken question, then turned her attention back on the man in her arms.
Jarod twitched, his muscles tensing and his back arching in response to something only he saw and, immediately, Miss Parker slid one hand under the blanket. Stroking the inside of his arm softly, she promised he was safe and, after a few moments, Jarod quieted. When his breaths were even, she slowly slid him back to the pillows and rose from the bed, watching protectively until Jarod shifted into a more comfortable position.
"You're good for him," a soft voice remarked.
Startled, Miss Parker pulled her hand from Jarod's arm and spun toward the voice, surprised to find the nurse still standing in the doorway. Unaffected by the glare that was focused on her, Emma crossed to the far side of the bed and placed her fingers on Jarod's wrist.
Lowering her eyes to the second hand of her watch, the nurse added, "Last time, it took two of us, and a sedative, to calm him, but you ..."
Keeping silent count of Jarod's pulse, the nurse looked up, letting her words fade as the brunette disappeared wordlessly into the hall.