What if everything, absolutely everything, changed?

This story is rated PG-13 for strong language and violent situations. In the Pretender timeline, this fits before "Till Death Do Us Part," branching off afterwards into AU-land. Here, "Till Death" would have happened in January (slightly earlier than the episode originally aired).

The title is cribbed from the REM song "The Great Beyond." I don't entirely know why it stuck to this story.

I didn't create and don't own these characters or the premise of the show. This story is for entertainment purposes only, no infringement is intended, and absolutely no money is being made from this. Please do not reproduce in print without my permission. Do not archive. Archive links to this page are welcome.

Thanks to Karen and Kelly for careful, thoughtful and repeated beta.

Feedback? Yes, please, to kirbyfest@yahoo.com. Feedback is good for you and it's way more fun than oat bran.

***

...California, Spring 2000...

"Half decaf, fat-free vanilla latte, right?" The girl-- young woman-- behind the coffee counter was the same one that had waited on Miss Parker almost every morning for the past two weeks, and she grinned with a sweetness that was infectious.

"Right."

The young woman went about her business, efficiently dealing with the various machines and bottles and cans required to feed her customer's morning caffeine obsession. This small coffee bar was only a few blocks from Parker's tiny seaside apartment, and she'd fallen into a morning ritual that included a long, early beach walk followed by this treat.

Parker followed her down to the cash register, making way for the next customer. "That's three and..." She paused and smiled as Miss Parker held out exact change. "Thanks."

Miss Parker was about to turn when the young woman spoke again. "I'm Summer."

Of course you are, dear, Parker thought to herself. California children and their names; she'd probably meet someone named Oregano tomorrow. But rather than spitting out the caustic reply, she paused, then offered, "Kate."

Summer nodded. "Good to meet you, Kate. It's nice to know the names of people you see every day, don't you think?"

Miss Parker had worked for years at a place where it was easier not to know people's names, but this girl with the braids in her hair, the multiple ear pierces, the smile that indicated the worst part of her childhood had probably been having to share a bathroom with a younger sibling-- she didn't need to know that, and God willing, Summer would never have to know anything about places like the Centre. "Yes. It is nice."

Summer moved to the next person in line and Miss Parker left the shop, swirling the stir stick in her latte.

Kate. Not her name, but her mother's name, shortened. It fit.

She wasn't intentionally trying to hide. There was no point, really; if anyone really wanted to find her, they would. Immediately after everything had happened, she'd flailed around, looking for fake ID, for cover. She'd realized quickly how absurd that was. How pointless. So Parker had packed up and headed west-- she wasn't going to sit in Delaware and watch the aftermath.

It had taken several weeks to stop looking over her shoulder and relax, just a little. Now here she was, suffering through another perfect day in sunny southern California. Except for the earthquakes, this place was paradise. Oh, yes, there were mudslides and forest fires, too. But today, right now, the sky was clear and even in the middle of March, Parker only needed a long-sleeved shirt to keep warm. It was the perfect change from the cold of the Northeast, from the icy chill of the Centre.

***

The vanilla latte was nearly gone by the time she got back to the apartment. It was too good to sip slowly. One of these days she'd end up a hopeless junkie, drinking five or six of these a day. But for now she tried to limit herself to one in the morning-- hoping that minimizing her caffeine consumption would help her sleep.

No luck so far. So far the only decent sleep she'd gotten since-- well, in the last three months-- had been through the joys of chemistry. Even chemistry only gave her four or five hours, at maximum dosage. Her body just didn't want to sleep, didn't want to close everything out for that long.

Parker carefully unlocked all the door locks, holding the edge of her almost-empty coffee cup in her teeth. She'd paid to have an extra lock installed, even though this was a rental. It felt safer. Every time she opened the front door she expected to see sweepers standing impassively in the tiny living room, or a bomb going off. Something.

The living room was empty, of course, and she slipped in and locked the door behind her quickly. She'd been lucky to find this one-bedroom rental so close to the beach, with no notice. Large amounts of cash probably had something to do with that. At least money wasn't a worry, thanks to the intricate web of overseas accounts that had been set up by her father back when she was barely walking. Handy, now. Thanks, Daddy.

The day stretched out in front of her, like yesterday and the day before. She'd so rarely had down time that she was at a loss to know what to do with most of it. She'd seen more movies in the past few weeks than in the last ten years of her life. Movies were large and loud, and they filled up her eyes so that all she saw or heard or thought about was what was on the screen in front of her. They killed time, and they killed memory. But they only lasted for so long.

Books were good, but left more room for small, random, dangerous thoughts to creep in. Hard exercise was somewhere between books and movies on the obliteration scale, but there was only so much exercise an overtired body could handle. Television-- worthless, except for old black-and-white movies that were so corny you couldn't help but get lost in them.

All these things were just devices-- strategies to prolong the inevitable. Parker didn't want to think about the Centre, or about what had happened.

And she certainly didn't want to think about what the hell she was going to do with the rest of her life.

***

Parker was absurdly pleased when Summer remembered her name the next morning, and for the first time in a while she had a smile on her face for most of the walk back to the apartment. Taking a more leisurely pace than usual, she window-shopped along the route. She didn't have much need for elegant clothes these days, but shopping was good for the soul. It killed time, too.

Her slower-than-normal pace meant that she finished her coffee long before reaching the apartment, and she glanced around for a trash can. There-- just down a side street. Heading towards the receptacle, she surreptitiously ran one finger around the inside of the cup to catch the last bit of vanilla-flavored foam and licked her finger as she tossed away the cup. Tomorrow, she'd have to upgrade to a large drink.

Turning back to the street, a building caught her eye. It was small, and even though it was on a gentle hill it was tucked back away from the street as if it didn't want to presume upon anyone, or make any trouble. Beautifully tended rock gardens surrounded the building, and Miss Parker squinted in the morning sun to make out the sign. Mary, Star of the Sea. It was a church. It didn't look like one, but it was.

The gate was open, and something about the building drew Miss Parker inside before she knew it. The church was dimly lit and surprisingly simple in ornamentation, and it had the faint, smoky incense scent that she associated with her childhood, with her mother.

Not for the first time she wished, with a sharp intake of breath, that she'd been able to salvage her mother's rosary; not for religious reasons, but because her mother had loved it. Parker slipped into one of the back pews, fighting the tears that still came to her eyes when she thought of everything, of everyone, that had been lost to her. The pew was uncomfortable-- there wasn't a church pew in the world that had actually taken the human form into consideration when it was designed-- but something about the feel of the hard wood against her back, about the smells and sights around her, made her breathing easier and made things feel just a little bit less overwhelming.

Miss Parker stayed in the church, grateful for the peace. Once in a while someone else would come in. A young boy came in and set up some things on the altar, possibly for mass. Later, a priest walked across the front with another man, involved in an intense discussion that sounded like it had to do with renovations or repairs to the buildings. No one bothered her, or approached her-- the priest simply flashed a quick smile at her, acknowledging her presence, then returned to his conversation. The altar boy didn't even see her.

It felt good to disappear into the darkness of this place.

***

Stopping by the church became part of her morning ritual, just like that. She went a couple of times a week. Sometimes she'd only stay a few minutes; more than once, she stayed for over an hour. The warmth and quiet was soothing, somehow. Her life was in a strange holding pattern, and while Parker knew this, she was also powerless to break it.

Once she reached the church especially early, and ended up sitting through morning Mass-- not participating, not taking communion, but sitting and watching the small group of people and envying the comfort they were able to take in their faith.

She'd lost the ability to believe in anything years ago.

After the service, Parker waited for people to clear out before she left. Sometimes, she'd light a candle-- but only if there was no one there to see her. She didn't waste any time praying over the tiny lit votives, but she liked adding a flicker of light to the little corner.

This morning, though, someone wasn't going to allow her that anonymity. The priest was marching towards her with a look in his eyes that made her feel like she was nine years old, and Parker realized there was no escape.

"I've noticed you in here before. I'm Frank." He extended his hand and Miss Parker took it, gingerly at first but then with more confidence. He had a good, solid handshake that went well with his smile.

"Kate."

"Welcome to St. Mary's, Kate." Frank (could you call a priest by his first name? Wasn't that illegal or something?) smiled, and she could have sworn he was holding back a laugh. "You know, people aren't required to sit in the back of the church during Mass."

"Thank you, Father. I think." She pushed back a sarcastic remark, realizing that this man-- this priest-- meant no harm. "You have a beautiful church."

"Oh, it's not mine, but thank you. It's everyone's." Frank beamed as he looked around, and the words didn't sound trite coming from him. It was clear he meant what he said. "You haven't been a regular churchgoer for a while, have you?" he asked. There was nothing judgmental in his voice or in his face, and though Parker would ordinarily have bristled at the personal question, something about him-- the gentle expression in his eyes, maybe, or perhaps the way the shape of his face reminded her of Daddy-- broke through her defenses.

"I'm not the religious type." Never had been, never would be; exactly why she was spending a little time each morning sitting in the back of a church wasn't something she had the energy to examine closely.

"Neither am I," Frank replied comfortably. "Those religious types make me nervous."

Parker did a mild double-take, then laughed-- probably her first good, solid, real laugh since... Since a long time.

***

Somewhere, someone was having a good laugh on her: after losing everything and everyone, only two people in California (besides her landlord) knew her name, fake or not. One was the coffee girl. The other was a priest. This was almost certainly part of some enormous cosmic joke; another part of the joke probably had something to do with Miss Parker visiting a church several times a week. The punchline was going to be a fucking doozy, and probably involve farm animals.

Awareness of the sheer absurdity of her presence in a church-- and the uncomfortable feeling that Frank would be looking for her-- brought out the stubborn streak in her, all dark and prickly. She stayed away from the little parish church for four days that week-- through four lattes (she'd given in and moved to a large), through four days of restless beach walking, four evenings of bad summer action blockbusters that took "suspension of disbelief" to new heights. Four days where she felt she was popping out of her own skin more than usual, all because she wasn't spending a bit of her morning in a building dedicated to a belief system she had no belief in.

By Friday, fully aware that it made no sense whatsoever, Parker gave in and crept into the back of the church again, allowing herself a few minutes in the cool quiet of the building. Mass had just ended, apparently, and the incense still lingered in the air, slightly hazy around the altar. Parker could almost feel her nerves stretching out, loosening.

Ten minutes. She'd give herself ten minutes.

She didn't even notice the dark-clad figure approaching until it slipped into the pew in front of her. If he'd been a sweeper, she'd be dead. "Kate." It was Frank, his smile welcoming. He looked tired, she thought distractedly; it almost appeared that he had new lines around his eyes. All this, in just a few days?

"We've missed you." There was no recrimination in his voice, and Parker couldn't help but smile. For all the jokes about Catholic guilt, this particular priest kept it to himself.

"Busy week." Parker shrugged slightly, aware that the statement sounded hollow.

"Well, I'm glad you're back." Someone left the church, sending a flash of light through the dimness as the door opened and shut, and Frank squinted in the sudden sun. He moved to slide off the pew and go back to the thousands of responsibilities he certainly had every day-- but turned back to Parker, and she recognized something in the set of his jaw that told her he wasn't just going to walk away from her today.

"Call me crazy, but I sense there's something you need to talk about."

Parker's laugh was harsher than she intended. "What would lead you to that conclusion?"

The priest took her question seriously. "Most people don't come to church every morning to sit in the back and leave when Mass starts." He settled back a bit, somehow making himself look comfortable in the pew.

"I'd rather not participate in the service," Parker said, her voice quiet and even. She couldn't quite meet his eyes.

"So. Why do you keep coming here?" There was no judgment in his voice-- he might have been asking if she liked cream in her coffee.

"I wish I knew the answer to that question." Parker sighed, looking around the quiet church. "My mother drew a lot of strength from her faith. I've always wished I had the same ability."

Frank raised his eyebrows. "Do you feel closer to your mother here, perhaps?"

She'd never really thought about it in that way, but it made sense. "You know, I think I do." Parker pulled thoughtfully at a strand of hair that had come loose from the barrette at the nape of her neck, finally looking up at Frank. "You're right."

The priest smiled. "Every now and then, even a priest can have some insight."

Parker returned the smile. "I don't doubt that." He'd put a name to something she hadn't understood until right now-- she did feel closer to her mother here, with the sights and sounds and smells that had meant so much to her when she was alive. And now, while Parker was trying to come to terms with everything that had happened, didn't it make sense that she wanted to be in a place that reminded her of the one person whose love she'd never had to question?

Frank cleared his throat softly, interrupting her reverie. "If you don't mind me saying so, Kate, you have this look about you. Like you're waiting for the other shoe to drop."

Something about the tone of his voice reminded her, painfully, of Sydney; she had to take a deep breath to stop herself from flinching. "What is it that people say when they go to confession? Bless me, Father, for I have sinned." Parker raised one eyebrow at the priest. "Except sometimes there's no possible absolution."

"So you think that, and sit in the back of the church, and beat yourself up over whatever sins in your past are still keeping you awake at night?" He reached over the back of the pew and touched her hand lightly. "Kate, forgiveness is always possible. That's the entire basis of this faith. Of my faith. Of your mother's faith." He stood, brushing his hand over her hair in a gesture of benediction that that Parker found strangely comforting, strangely familiar. "But first, you have to forgive yourself."

He left without waiting for her response, humming something under his breath, leaving Parker alone with her memories.

***

...Delaware, three months earlier...

"What are you doing?"

Broots stopped humming and looked up at Miss Parker, guilt written all over his face. He always looked guilty, she thought sourly, even when he wasn't doing a damn thing wrong. And he still wasn't answering her question. "Well?"

He glanced back at the computer, then at her. "I'm just..." His eyes seemed to be drawn to the computer screen. "There's something going on in the system, and I'm trying to figure out what it is."

Ah. Broots couldn't resist a challenge, a puzzle. "Jarod?" Parker asked, coming over and leaning down to see the screen. It was gibberish to her, though it looked like it was gibberish in some kind of pattern.

Broots shook his head. "I don't think so. I don't know. This is something I've never seen before. I can't even identify it. I can't believe Jarod would do something like this with the firewall."

"Jarod could do almost anything, Broots." Sydney shut the door behind him as he entered, although all of them knew no space was ever truly private in the Centre.

Broots turned back to the computer, his hands flicking over the keyboard. "No," he muttered, already half back into the puzzle. "This doesn't feel like Jarod, Sydney."

"Doesn't 'feel like?' That's a hunch to hang your hat on," Parker said in exasperation.

Broots hit a key and pages started spitting out of a nearby printer. "Sorry I can't be more definite, Miss Parker," he said in a voice empty of apology. "It just doesn't feel like him. This feels... wrong. Bad." And he was off to the printer, muttering something under his breath that she probably wouldn't have understood if she could hear him. He was off in his little geek techno world, and they'd just slow him down if they tried to understand.

Miss Parker glanced at Sydney, who just shrugged. Broots had to take the lead
on this one, and they'd have to wait until he had something to tell them.

Wrong. Bad. Not words you wanted to hear from anyone, but certainly never from Broots in regards to the Centre's computer system.

***

Following Jarod's latest Pretend had left her knee-deep in paperwork-- even at the Centre, there were some things that were difficult to explain on an expense report-- so Lyle striding into her office was an even-more-unwelcome-than-usual surprise.

"What do you want?"

No banter, no smile, no pretense of friendliness or sibling warmth. Lyle simply strode in, threw a folder on her desk, and headed back out. "That's for the meeting this afternoon," he flung over his shoulder as he left, nearly knocking Sydney over as he entered.

Sydney raised one eyebrow at Miss Parker, and she shook her head. "I have no idea." She'd given up on the idea of ever having a relationship with her brother. More than given up, actually; she'd buried the idea deep in the woods at midnight. Now she focused on making sure her brother didn't kill her. That seemed somewhat more important than developing a warm, loving relationship with him.

Broots stuck his head through the door, and Parker had to push back a wave of relief. Broots had been buried in the mysterious computer problems for three days now, and they'd barely seen him. There wasn't another computer geek in the place who had half Broots' brains-- though she'd never tell him that-- and having him back in the game would make her life immeasurably easier.

Those thoughts were washed away by the look on Broots' face. "Something's wrong," Sydney said, his voice just a shade deeper than usual.

"Something's very wrong," Broots whispered, and there was a look in his eyes that made Parker want to dig out her Scotch. "Very, very wrong. Outside?"

There was absolutely no way for the three of them to explain a walk in the middle of a weekday afternoon, in the middle of a Delaware winter, but none of them bothered to worry about it. Without speaking, they separated and ended up outside, leaving through different exits and at different times but all heading for the same little grouping of trees. The subterfuge was just part of how they all managed to survive in this place.

Broots was the last to arrive, and Miss Parker didn't waste time. "What is it?""Two offices. Gone."

"Gone?" Sydney sounded as confused as Parker felt.

Even though they were outside, Broots lowered his voice. "Destroyed. No computers, no phones, people missing-- or dead, though that's hard to verify. The buildings are completely gone, from the satellite photos I saw. Their local remote backup offices are gone, too. The data's been wiped clean."

Parker swallowed, hard. "Which offices?" she asked, her voice harsh.

"Perth and... Tokyo."

Perth-- it was a small office, really only a data center. But Tokyo...

Sydney spoke their thoughts aloud, his voice detached. "Seventy people."

Parker brushed a bit of windblown hair off her face. "Seventy-two," she corrected him absently, wondering why she felt so cold. "We just transferred in two more tech people last month." She took a sharp breath. "Broots. How?"

Broots shook his head. "I don't know. And I don't know why they're not telling anyone about it-- it happened at least four days ago, as close as I can tell."

"Four days? Four days?" Miss Parker whirled and started pacing along the side of the gentle slope they were standing on. "There's been no increase in security, no tightening of procedures-- it's like no one even noticed they were gone. How did you find this out, Broots?"

Broots looked as tired as she'd ever seen him. "I got an anonymous piece of e-mail this morning. It made sense of the glitches I found on my own."

Sydney was shaking his head. "You're right, Miss Parker. We should be in a virtual lockdown. The Centre is nothing if not paranoid."

"This doesn't make any sense," Miss Parker muttered. She stopped pacing and put her hands on her hips, glaring at nothing in particular. "Theories? Broots, talk to us."

Broots ran one hand over his head. "I don't have any." He threw his hands up at her expression. "I don't have any that make sense, Miss Parker. The only thing I can think of..." His voice trailed off and he shook his head, for some reason not wanting to continue.

"Broots?" Sydney asked.

Broots took a deep breath as if gathering courage to float some theory involving little green men. "The only thing I can think of is that they haven't done anything about it... because they don't know about it yet."

"That's ridiculous." Parker's voice was vicious, and though she wasn't looking at him she knew Broots winced. "You couldn't have our largest field office in the Far East not report in for four days without someone noticing before now."

"You could if, somehow, it was set up so that the office seemed like it was still there-- transmitting reports and everything. There's just no human contact. It's all too neat." Broots was certainly aware of how bizarre this all sounded, but his gaze was steady. "Miss Parker, even their voice mail and security tapes look all right. Unless you go to the lengths I went to, there's just no way you'd know the offices were gone."

They were all silent at the implication. "Jarod?" Parker asked, not really believing it.

Sydney was shaking his head almost before she asked the question. "Jarod would do this without killing seventy people," Sydney said with absolute certainty in his voice.

"We don't know they're all dead," Parker interjected. Broots bit his lip and glanced away.

"I wonder what other offices might have been affected," Sydney said quietly.

Parker's mind was racing. If only she knew where Daddy was... but that was futile, and she shook the thought off. She didn't, and it was up to her. Her alone. Lyle certainly wasn't going to help, wasn't going to protect her or Sydney or Broots or Debbie or anyone that she gave a damn about.

When she raised her head, her eyes were clear and cold. "We need to find out how far this has gone. Between the three of us we probably all know people at the major offices that we can get in touch with. Live voice contact only-- no voice mail, no e-mail that can be faked." She turned and headed back towards the Centre, knowing Syd and Broots would follow at her heels. "Make up some reason for calling. Do it fast, and let's meet in my office in one hour."

"An hour?" Broots sounded a little breathless from keeping up with Miss Parker's rapid pace.

"We don't have much time, Broots," Sydney said, his voice detached.

One hour later, when they met in Parker's office, the looks that each of them saw on the others' faces made it immediately clear that Perth and Tokyo were not the only field offices that had been wiped off the face of the earth.

***

Conscious that everything they said was probably being monitored, they simply named the offices that they'd tried to contact, and failed. Their voices were barely audible as they spoke. London. Amsterdam. Buenos Aires. Singapore. The list went on, sounding more and more hollow as it lengthened, and when there were no more cities left to name the three of them stared blankly at one another, not sure what to do next.

The office they were in was quite probably one of the last Centre facilities left.

Miss Parker ignored the sharp twist in her stomach and turned away from Sydney and Broots, heading for her window. If she positioned herself just right, she could see the front entrance of the Centre. This had been very useful in the past, and it was useful again today. As far as she could see, access to the Centre was still normal; people looked like they were coming and going as usual.

For now.

All the thoughts racing around in her head suddenly came together into laser-sharp focus, and she swung around from the window, walking quickly back to the two men. She slung her arms around their shoulders, pulling them close to her and not caring if the gesture appeared affectionate or weak or any one of the thousands of emotions she spent her life avoiding.

"Listen to me," Parker said, her voice low and urgent. "For some reason they haven't locked us down yet. I don't know why." She paused, her mouth quirking into a half-smile. "I don't want to know why. Maybe they don't know. We just have to use the time we have left." She turned to look at Broots, who had the usual look of confusion on his face. "Broots, get out."

If it was possible, he looked even more confused. "What?"

She grasped his shoulders, hard. "We don't know how long we have, Broots. Get the hell out of here. Pick up Debbie and get out of Delaware as fast as you can. Ditch your car and keep moving until you're as far away as you can get."

Broots stared at her, open-mouthed, and Parker had to push back the urge to shake him. Sydney spoke, probably sensing her tension. "Miss Parker is right, Broots. We've been given a grace period for some reason. You need to use it for your daughter."

"Go? Leave?" His forehead furrowed, and he shook his head. "I can't leave you two..."

"Yes, you damn well can. And you will." Now she did shake him, and not gently; her fingers dug into his shoulders with so much force that he winced. "You have to think of Debbie. I assume you've got money somewhere that the Centre doesn't know about?" He flushed, confirming her suspicions. "Good. Get the hell out of here."

"But..."

"This is no time for Centre loyalty, Broots," Sydney said with so much affection in his voice that Parker saw tears spring to Broots' eyes, and the pang in her stomach returned with new ferocity. "We will be fine. Go."

Parker pushed Broots away, towards the door. "Go."

Broots was actually taking a step towards the door when it swung open. "Where are you going, Mr. Broots?" Lyle crossed his arms, leaning against the door frame. Though his voice was bland, his gaze was anything but.

Broots, the world's lousiest liar, just gaped at Lyle.

"His daughter's school called," Miss Parker supplied smoothly. No one looking at her-- certainly not Lyle-- would suspect a thing; she was every inch the ice queen, the bitch of the Centre. "He has to go be daddy to his sick daughter," she said derisively.

God, please let her be convincing.

"That's... that's right." Broots' voice was shaky, but that was nothing different than his usual behavior in front of Lyle. "I'll see you in the morning, Miss Parker. Sydney." He lingered in the door as if he expected something more from them

"Whatever." Miss Parker waved a hand at him dismissively and turned to her desk, hoping that Lyle couldn't hear her heart beating. She could, and it was damn loud. Sydney, following her lead, murmured something noncommittal at Broots and walked over beside Miss Parker. It probably looked to Lyle like he was reading something over her shoulder, but Parker could hear Syd's uneven breathing, and knew that he was fighting just as hard to stay in control as she was.

Broots was still in the doorway. Leave, dammit, Parker thought savagely. Leave. At any moment he could lose the ability to walk through the gates and get his daughter to safety. Why was he wasting his fucking time on them?

She knew the answer to that; it was for the same reason that she wanted to turn and hug him, tell him everything was going to be all right. He was her friend. He was Sydney's friend. The three of them had shared a strange lifeline in this hellish place, and it would have been a gift if they had been able to acknowledge that with goodbyes.

Right now, that didn't matter; there was no time for sentimental bullshit. All that mattered was that he got out while he still could.

And he did, leaving the two of them with Lyle.

***

Lyle left almost immediately, and Miss Parker and Sydney stared at each other.

"We should get out too, Sydney."

He smiled, his face creased with lines he'd earned the hardest of ways. "I doubt there's time for me, Miss Parker. I can't just leave."

"Bullshit."

"I can't. There's too much here I'd need to gather together. Too many loose ends."

His head snapped up and their eyes met, each thinking the same thing.

"Angelo," she breathed, and Sydney nodded. Turning, they strode out of Parker's office with almost military precision, just a shade faster than usual.

Angelo wasn't in his room. Sydney and Parker spent a few moments peering into nearby air ducts, but with no luck. "Shit, shit, shit," Parker growled, glaring around the room with her hands on her hips. "Where else can we look?"

"Perhaps he's already aware of what has happened," Sydney murmured, opening a closet door for the second time, just in case. "He might already have left."

"Maybe." As Parker looked around the room, though, she saw too many things that Angelo should have taken with him. If he were going to leave, he'd take them; he was a demented little pack rat.

She turned back to face Sydney. "I think it's time to start taking care of those loose ends, Sydney. For both of us."

***

She and Syd separated after leaving Angelo's den, taking different routes back to their respective offices. Parker was a mile away, ticking off things in her head that she needed to handle-- mementos she wanted to pack up, papers she needed to shred-- and when she pushed open her office door and ran smack into Lyle, it startled her far more than it ordinarily would have.

"Parker."

"Jesus, Lyle." She stopped, putting one hand to her chest, hoping he couldn't see that her heart had nearly jumped out of her chest. "What the hell do you want?"

"Scared you?" He walked past her without looking for a response. "Get into the auditorium. Now."

"What?"

Lyle half-turned, his face shadowed. "The Triumvirate is here. All of them. There's an all-staff meeting in the auditorium-- now. Command performance."

"What..." But Lyle was gone before she could frame a question.

Parker took a moment, thinking hard. The Triumvirate's facility was one of the offices that they hadn't been able to reach-- but whatever had happened must have happened after their departure. And now, here they were. Pretty much everyone left that worked for the Centre was right here. Right now. In this building.

The telephone rang.

***

...California, spring 2000...

Another perfect day in California, and this sidewalk cafe was the perfect place to enjoy it-- a bit of an ocean view, only partially blocked by the building on the opposite side of the street. It was early for dinner, but Parker preferred it that way-- fewer people, no crowds. Just peace and quiet, a large iced tea with extra lemon, and a tuna salad plate that sat untouched in front of her as she read the newspaper.

"Hello, Miss Parker."

It was a surprise and not a surprise, all at once, to look up and see Jarod standing there, just on the other side of one of the large flower-filled planters that ringed the little outdoor eating area. He was all in his usual black-- black jeans, black t-shirt, black boots-- and the wildly colored flowers in the planter looked California-style incongruous in front of him.

"Jarod."

They studied each other for a long moment. Parker realized that some of the things that had changed in Jarod were probably the same changes he could see in her own face-- he looked older, with new lines in his face; his black hair had some grey at the temples that surely hadn't been there before. The grey hair looked good on him; the lines, the sadness in his eyes, did not.

"May I join you?"

She indicated the chair opposite her with a wave of her hand, and watched as he sat down. The waitress was there in a heartbeat, taking his order for coffee; somehow Parker doubted Jarod ever had to wait long for service, especially when the staff was female.

"I guess I shouldn't be surprised you found me."

Jarod shrugged in response, busy spooning sugar into his mug. "You didn't make yourself hard to find."

"My only question is why you looked for me, Jarod." Parker pushed the plate away from her and leaned back, studying his familiar face. She was surprised at how good it felt to see someone-- anyone-- who knew who and what she was before, who knew her as she used to be. Even if that person was Jarod.

"You know who did it, don't you?" His voice was perfectly neutral, but she knew perfectly well everything that was behind the question.

Parker's eyebrows raised. "You don't? You're kidding." He knew everything. He always knew everything. It was one of his most reliable, and most annoying, characteristics.

"I've run the sim dozens of times, Miss Parker, and it could be one of two people no matter how I do it." He took a long drink of his coffee, then quirked an eyebrow at her. "Actually, it could be one of three people, but I know it wasn't me."

"You don't know all the details." She smiled at him, but Parker knew perfectly well she was half a second from tears. "Neither do I, actually."

The waitress refilled his coffee cup as she went by, and Jarod thanked her before turning his sharp gaze back to Parker.

Parker turned her head away from him, her chin high. "What do you want, Jarod?"

"You know." He reached across the table and took her chin in one hand, turning her face towards him so gently that she didn't flinch from the touch. "Tell me, Miss Parker. Please."

"And what good would it do for you to know?" she asked, hating the sound of tears in her voice, the lost faded sound in the background. "It won't change what happened. It won't bring anyone back." Could she dredge all of it up again, think about it, remember everything she'd been pushing away with all the strength she had in her?

Jarod half-smiled at her, his eyes so full of-- what? Sorrow? Compassion?-- that they threatened to knock down all her carefully constructed barricades. "No, it won't. But you more than anyone else should understand how important closure is."

When she looked at Jarod, she could see the face of him as a child, superimposed over the face of the man he'd become. He'd forfeited nearly all of his life to the Centre, and now he'd lost any chance of access to his own records, though Parker had always suspected those records were destroyed years ago, Probably long before Jarod hit puberty.

Knowing what had happened might be the only kind of closure he would ever get.

She wished, suddenly and intensely, for a cigarette. Looking away from Jarod for a moment, she took a deep breath, trying to quell the ache in her stomach.

When she met his eyes again, her face was calm. "Do you really want to know?"

Jarod nodded.

"Fine." She stood, pulling money out of her pocket and tossing it onto the table. "Let's walk."

***

...Delaware, three months earlier...

"Angel."

Parker sagged against her desk, absolute relief washing over her. "Daddy?" God, he was all right. They hadn't gotten him.

"This isn't exactly how I planned it." He sounded breathless and far away, as if he were calling from Antarctica. "No choice."

"Daddy, what are you talking about?"

"Listen to me." His voice was stronger, suddenly, and it was that sit-up-shoulders-back tone she remembered from her childhood. "I need to meet with you. Now."

"You're here? In Delaware?"

"I'm close. I need you to meet me. Now."

"I can't just leave." She could see people hurrying past her office door on their way to the auditorium. "The Triumvirate is here, Daddy. They're having a meeting. I can't..."

"You can and you will!" Parker had to hold the phone away from her ear at her father's roar. "You know all the ways out of that place. Use them. Meet me."

Someone hurrying by glanced into Parker's office, their eyes meeting hers for a split second. Fear. That's what the Triumvirate fed on. Hell, that's what the Centre fed on. She twisted away from the door, hanging on to her desk for dear life.

"Where?"

***

Her father had agreed to meet her in the parking lot of a smoky little restaurant he was fond of; it was only fifteen minutes from the Centre if one was driving normally. Parker made it there in eight minutes.

Ten minutes, twenty minutes later-- the parking lot was nearly deserted, and none of the few cars going by even bothered to slow down. Where was he?

After half an hour, Parker was ready to crawl out of her skin when her cell phone rang. She flicked it on before the first ring had finished. "Daddy?"

"Angel. Where are you?"

"Where the hell do you think I am?" Her nerves, her frustration were boiling over, and she took a deep breath. "Sorry. I'm waiting for you."

"Good." He was quiet, but Parker could hear some kind of music in the background. Straining, she listened, and with a wave of nausea she realized what it was.

It was the chime of the Centre's freight elevator.

"Daddy, are you at the Centre? What's going on?"

"They killed Brigitte and the baby, Angel." His voice was fainter now, somehow, as if something had sucked all the life out of him-- all the usual confidence and authority was gone, replaced by the brittle voice of an old man. "They killed the baby. It was... it would have been a boy. Right in front of me. They said they were teaching me a lesson."

"Oh, Daddy, no." Parker shut her eyes, pressing a hand to her stomach. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"No time. Just happened." Something metal clinked softly. "Made me realize how much I've lost to this godforsaken place. I've done things you can't imagine, but the blood... You know about Lyle, don't you?"

"Know what?" There were only a thousand possible things to "know" about her sonofabitch brother.

"That he goes around killing little Asian girls. I believed him at first, but... That's something else the Centre did to our family, Angel-- took away your brother and twisted his mind. I just..." He stopped, and she could hear him breathing heavily. "I can't do it any more."

Fear rippled over her, the hairs on the back of her neck rising. "You're scaring me, Daddy. What are you talking about?"

"This place. I'm doing it for you."

"Doing what?" Her voice was rising, getting more shrill as her fear heightened. "What are you doing?"

"You'll be free now. Your mother would have wanted this. I took everything else away from her, but maybe..." Some of the old vigor came back into his voice. "You know I love you, Angel. I always have, and I always will."

He didn't wait for a response; Parker could hear the phone being set down. She shook her own cell phone fiercely, as if sheer will would force the man on the other end to pick the receiver up again. "Daddy! Daddy, goddamnit!"

He was gone; the line was dead.

She was in the car and on the road almost before she knew it; she got the car into maximum gear then hit the speed dial. Please answer. Please answer. When the click came at the other end of the line, she nearly sobbed with relief.

"This is Sydney."

"Sydney!" She didn't waste time identifying herself. "Leave. Leave now."

"What?"

Parker negotiated a turn at a speed that, by all rights, should have sent the car tumbling into a ditch. "Sydney, it's my father. They killed Brigitte and the baby. I don't know how he's doing it, but I think it's Daddy destroying the Centre locations. I think he's in the building now. Get out!"

She could see Sydney as clearly as if she were there in the room-- he hadn't gone to the auditorium, but was bent over his desk, rubbing his forehead with one hand, thinking. "So he's destroying the Centre to avenge their deaths, and Catherine's, and..."

This was not the time to delve into her father's psyche. "Sydney, are you listening to me? Get the hell out of there!"

His chuckle was warm and low over the airwaves. "I don't think so, Parker."

Her anger was like clear, pure energy making her drive even faster, which seemed impossible; the needle was nearly off the gauge and she was still too damn far away. "Sydney!"

"I'm not going anywhere." She could hear something in the background; it sounded like he was moving things around on his desk.

Damn him. "Sydney, don't you go playing martyr! You will not use this as some kind of fucking absolution!"

"Oh, Parker." He sounded so tired that it hurt her, down in places she hadn't hurt for years. "There is no possible absolution for the things I have done."

The line was quiet. "Sydney? Sydney! Answer me!"

The scarlet glow appeared on the horizon at the same time the cell phone line crackled violently and went dead.

She might have screamed, or perhaps it was just a soundless open-mouthed plea that no one was nearby to hear. She never knew; all she knew was that she slammed her foot into the brake of the car so hard that the strain would ache in that leg for several days. The car stopped with a violent swerve, squealing around to face the direction she'd come from. It was sheer luck that stopped Parker from going off the road, and only the seatbelt that stopped her from cracking into the windshield.

Oh my God.

There was no one else on that stretch of road, fortunately. Parker twisted to look over her shoulder in the direction of the Centre. Over the trees, the glow against the night sky was beginning to feather with smoke.

Oh God. Oh God.

With precise moves that only habit and experience could account for, Parker ripped the car into gear, swerved around to the correct direction, and headed towards that angry, terrible point on the horizon as fast as her car could go.

***

Her voice gave out close to the end of the story, and Parker had to stop for a few minutes while she caught her breath, looking out over the ocean.

This was why she hadn't let herself think about it. It was too hard. Some things were just too much for anyone to bear. Hadn't she had more than her share of the unbearable?

For just a moment, Jarod reached over and touched her hand, his skin solid and warm on hers.

***

Parker had never really thought about it, but apparently stone could burn. Or look like it was burning. The cool pale stone of the Centre was a thousand different colors of black and red and orange, engulfed in the flames shooting out the windows.

The colors were really all that was left of the complex; of the buildings, of the files, of the people inside.

***

By the time she'd told Jarod everything, the sun had half-set over the water and the evening chill was draping their shoulders. Jarod sat motionless for a long time after she finished talking, staring out at the churning ocean, his profile unreadable in the dusk.

Finally, he nodded. "It makes sense."

Parker shrugged, drawing her knees up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them. "I don't know. Part of me says there had to be another way."

"And the other part of you?"

"The other part of me is still getting used to the idea that everything's gone." She rested her head on her knees, looking at Jarod. "That Daddy's gone. It was a sick, screwed-up place that didn't deserve to exist, and in some ways I'm lucky..." She paused, then half-smiled. "We're lucky not to have it running our lives any more. But..."

"I just wish so many people hadn't died," Jarod added huskily, finishing her thought.

The sun dropped lower in the sky as they watched, silent again.

"He had help," Miss Parker murmured, almost to herself. "He had to."

"Lyle." There was a faint edge of malice in Jarod's voice. "He couldn't have known how it would end."

"His sense of self-preservation wouldn't have let him help Daddy if he had known." Lyle had been the eternal cat landing on his feet, through all the atrocities and bloodshed. "I'm sure Lyle thought Daddy was trying to take over the Centre, and that he'd get some power out of it."

Jarod nodded. "Anything for more power." He was quiet for a moment, thinking. "Miss Parker, I never thought your father could..."

"Neither did I." She smiled bitterly, throwing her head back and looking up at the sky, faintly sprinkled with stars. "I guess he did love Brigitte. And the baby. He said something about blood. If they really killed them in front of him..."

"That sight could turn almost anyone against the Centre," Jarod finished.

"Even my father."

"Even your father." Jarod moved his shoulders, stretching them out. "Broots made it, but I'm not sure who else did."

"Other than some lower level employees, I don't think many people are left."

"Your father was very thorough." Jarod's voice was even, but Parker winced.

"Do you think my father sent that e-mail to Broots?" This was the one piece she still wasn't sure of. She watched him as he thought, and one could almost hear the thoughts clicking against each other inside that intuitive, logical, frightening brain of his.

"Probably," he said finally. "I can't see it coming from Lyle. Maybe..." He paused, looking away and then back at her, and she couldn't quite see his expression in the faint light that remained. "He wanted you to have a chance to get them out."

"Broots and Sydney." The sharp edge of tears was there again, and she dug her nails into the palm of her hand, trying to push them back and not having much luck. "I wish..."

"I know," said Jarod, and the sadness in her voice was reflected in his. "I know."

"Angelo," Parker said finally, breaking the silence. "Has he contacted you?"

Jarod shook his head. "No."

"So we don't know." Parker turned her face to look at the ocean again, the waves nearly invisible in the rapidly descending darkness. "We may never know," she murmured, mostly to herself, and she reached up to sweep the tears from her cheeks.

They were quiet, both listening to the waves and to whatever memories were playing over and over in their heads

"So what now?" Jarod asked finally.

"Good question." She drew her knees more tightly to her chest. "I haven't figured that part out yet. "I've never started a new life before-- you tell me. What now?"

Jarod shook his head and stood, reaching out his hand to help her up. They headed away from the water, towards the lights and noise of the town. "I never started lives. I just slipped in and out of fake ones. I never had to stay long enough to get involved." He cleared his throat, and for a moment there was something there, almost physical, surrounding him. "Almost never."

They reached the raised sidewalk and Jarod held her elbow as she climbed up onto it, following her with an easy grace that made Parker envious of his height.

"So this is new for me, too," Jarod continued. Now that they were back among light and people she could see the shadows on his face, in his eyes.

"Have you been able to contact your father?"

The shadows lifted, just a little. "Yes. That's something." He winced. "We still don't know where my mother is, or my sister, but we'll keep looking."

"And... The boy?"

Jarod sighed, and the darkness was back full force. "He's-- well, he's troubled. My father's working with him. Now that I don't have to run from the Centre..." He lifted one eyebrow at Miss Parker, who nodded in acknowledgment. "We're going to find someplace to settle down and give him a family. Give all of us a family."

Family. All her life, Miss Parker had one and Jarod had none; now, everything was reversed. Jarod was watching her, and Parker had the sense he knew what was running through her head. No surprise there.

He shrugged. "It's not as if you have to make a decision right now," he said softly. "You can figure it out as you go along."

"We'll see." She'd never been very good at "figuring it out." She liked to have a good, solid strategic plan in place. Structure. But everything that had been her structure had literally been blown to bits, leaving her to muddle through things on her own.

Jarod smiled at her; again, he probably knew what was going through her mind. "Let's get some dinner," he declared, changing the topic.

"I don't think so."

"Come on, Miss Parker." He smiled, and despite years and loss and pain, the round-cheeked teenager she'd had such a crush on was still there in that smile. "Let me buy you dinner. For old time's sake."

It struck her as she looked at him, at the dark eyes and tentative smile, that he was all the family she had left in this world, in an odd sense. He was the only person alive who'd known her since childhood, who knew where she'd come from. Jarod was all that was left of her past.

A priest. A coffee girl. All that she had in her present. Just for now, that was something.

Brushing the last of the tears from her cheeks, she nodded at Jarod. "All right."

Someday, maybe she could forgive herself. Someday.

End

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