Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended. Title and Quotes from Edgar Allan Poe.
 
 

 

The City In The Sea
part 1
by Mandy

Lo! Death has reared itself a throne
In a strange city lying alone
Far down within the dim west
Where the good and the bad and the worst and the best
Have gone to their eternal rest
These shrines and palaces and towers
Time eaten towers that tremble not
Resemble nothing that is ours
Around, by lifting winds forgot
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.

The cigarette dangled from numb fingers, she was too tired to bring it to her mouth. She leaned back further on the sofa, trying to block out the shrill buzzing of the phone. She knew it was Jarod, she just couldn't bear to talk to him at the moment. She was too tired, too torn up by everything that had happened in her life, too disappointed. Too sad, she didn't want to hear his voice...; She would wait it out, see if he stopped calling her.

Two am she finally picked up the phone, bringing it to her ear and listening, waiting.

"What took you so long?" Jarod joked, but she only sighed. "I was beginning to wonder if something had happened to you...;"

"Did it ever occur to you that I just wasn't home Jarod?" she questioned, and heard a muffled laugh.

"Yeah right. You just got back from Texas, where you found yet another dead end. You would have stopped in at the Centre, got home, poured yourself a stiff drink, lit up a cigarette and ignored the phone for a bit. Then you would have had a bath, trying to escape, but the annoyance of the phone ringing wouldn't have let you relax. You'd get out, wrap yourself in that giant fuzzy blue bath towel, get another drink and slip into bed after putting on that sheer white nightgown. Then you'd listen to the phone for a few more hours, willing it to go away but not quite wanting to unplug it. Finally it gets on your nerves so much that you answer it, am I right?" he asked, and Miss Parker frowned.

"Wrong Ratboy...; I'm not wearing the white gown, I'm wearing the blue one, so there!" she hissed, but couldn't help but smile as he exploded in a fit of laughter.

"Goodnight Jarod." She murmured, hanging up the phone. And spent the next few sleepless hours wondering why he didn't call her back.

No rays from the holy Heaven come down
On the long night time of that town;
But light out the lurid sea
Streams up the turrets silently-
Gleams up the pinnacles far and free-
Up domes- up spires- up kingly walls-
Up shadowy long-forgotten bowers
Of sculptured ivory and stone flowers-
Up many and many a marvellous shrine
Whose wreathed wreathed friezes intertwine
The viol, the violet, the vine.
Resignedly beneath the sky
The melancholy waters lie.
So blend the turrets and shadows there
That all seem pendulous in air,
While from the proud tower in the town
Death looks gigantically down.

She took the next day off, driving in her car and finally arriving at a park with a lake. She got out of her car and went to sit on a park bench, not quite sure why she was there. She watched the people around her, children laughing and playing, parents fondly looking on, young couples acting shy and in love, old couples sitting or walking together, hands held and love shining from their faces.

She'd never been given a chance. She'd always obeyed Daddy, even if it meant giving up her future, any hope for happiness she might have had. A thirty-four year old woman who wasn't getting aany younger, who had no skill that didn't include doing something illegal and a twisted family who refused to let her go. She'd tried once, and Tommy had died for it. And as deeply as her past was twined with the Centre, so was her future. Even the one person who could possibly help her, Jarod, wouldn't let them out of his life. He could have disappeared, left no breadcrumbs and searched for his family on the quiet. But instead he led them all in this stupid little dance, twisting and turning from their grasp at the last moment.

No, he couldn't help her, he too was still hung up on that hell hole. And that left her relying solely on herself, like she always had, and she had no idea how to escape. Stuck with her empty life and her terrible, terrible secret. She had never had the will to leave the Centre before, never had the energy. But now she knew. She had found out yesterday, Angelo slipping her a Manila folder with a sad smile, three words tumbling from his mouth, "time's almost up". She had had no idea until she had read, then re-read the contents of the folder, late at night in her dark office. And now she had the will...; just not the way.

What would she do? Knowing what was coming, what would she do? Go into hiding and search newspapers for any news on Jarod? Hurting when they stopped, knowing the Centre had finally retrieved him? Not captured, retrieved. Captured was a far too humane word for the Centre. She felt the wind begin to pick up, clearing her eyes and realising that most people had left due to the dark storm clouds which were hovering overhead. She felt the first drop of rain spatter on her hand. She stared down at it, blinking in surprise when a second drop followed it. Rain. Such a simple thing, it happened, weather or not she stayed with the Centre or not, things would occur. Babies would cry, tides would change and people would die. Sometimes even without the Centre's help. But most importantly, whatever happened, life would go on. Suddenly she felt very insignificant. Who would care? Who would know? She pondered these thoughts, the crumpled Manila folder and it's secrets clutched in her hand. She had to find Jarod. But not in the way she had always tried to before...; she had to find him as his friend, not as his huntress.

There open fanes and gaping graves
Yawn level with luminous waves;
But not the riches there that lie
In each idols diamond eye-
Not the gayly-jeweled dead
Tempt the waters from their bed;
For no ripples curl, alas!
Along that wildernessof glass-
No swellings tell what winds may be
Upon some far off happier sea-
No heavings hint that winds have been
On seas less hideously serene.

On the other side of the lake a lone figure stood, dressed all in black, fiddling with a remote control that directed a small sailboat that was on the lake. With the wind picking up he was finding it hard to direct the small ship back to the shore, and by the time it reached him rain was pelting down, stinging his skin as it was carried on an icy wind. Tucking the boat under his arm he began to run, jogging the path around the lake, back towards his car. He stared at the ground, trying to protect his eyes from the wind and rain that tore at him.

As he jogged up the embankment a patch of mud caused him to slip. Regaining his feet, he rose carefully, staring in shocked dismay at the figure that was before him. Miss Parker. His first instinct he gave into, to dart his eyes around, looking for a team of sweepers, but there were none. His second instinct he forestalled, the urge to run. She was soaking wet, trembling with cold and something else, her eyes red rimmed.

"Parker? Are you alright?" he asked, gazing into her troubled blue eyes. She stared silently at him, clutching a Manila folder to her chest like her life depended on it, her face crumpling with pain and fear. Tentatively he stretched a hand out, meaning to take the folder from her, but the notion was quickly dispelled when she flinched away from him. He dropped his hand, staring in amazement as she reached out her own hand, brushing it tenderly down his cheek.

"Don't let them find you Jarod. Disappear, find your family by all means but for gods sakes you've got to disappear. Don't ever let them find you." She whispered, her voice made harsh by tears. He looked blankly at her, shocked by her words. His huntress, telling him not to let them find him? She shook her head, making a sound of inarticulate rage as she did, turning her eyes back to glare fiercely at him.

"Don't you understand Jarod? It's already too late, but at least make a life for yourself before...;before...; you have to be understand, you haven't got much longer Jarod!" she growled, but all he could do was stand frozen to the spot, not understanding her urgency.

"Damn you Jarod, go! Now, before it's too late! Find the happiness I never had, you never had, whatever, but go!" she cried, and slowly, slowly he began to back away, her fear touching something inside him.

"GO!!! " she shrieked one last time, and suddenly her fear consumed him, filling him, forcing his tired legs to move as he scrambled up and over wet ground, running like his life depended on it, leaving the wet, shaking figure alone once more as he dashed to freedom.
 
 

But lo, a stir is in the air!
The wave- there is a movement there!
As if the towers had thrust aside,
In slightly sinking, the dull tide-
As if their tops had feebly given
A void within the filmy heaven.
The waves have now a redder glow-
The hours are breathing faint and low-
And when, amid no earthly moans,
Down, down that town shall settle hence,
Hell, rising from a thousand thrones,
Shall so it reverence.
 

One Year Later.
 

Swish. Swish. She'd said she'd never do this. Swish. Swish. She'd made a solemn vow to herself ten months ago. Swish. Swish. And yet still the pages turned. Swish. Swish. The newspaper. Swish. Swish. Thunk. She'd spilt her coffee with her violent movements, now she watched disinterestedly as the dark stain spread rapidly across the pages, obliterating words which meant nothing to her.

Her scrapbook sat next to her, filled with articles she'd cut out. Each held a small clue, a tiny reference, which led her to believe Jarod was involved. Except he didn't use that name any more. Each name, each article, held special meaning for the past they shared. "Animal Rights Rebel Frees Rabbits!" was the most recent clue, the article described how a laboratory full of test animals had been broken into, all the white rabbits inside being freed, the only evidence a small business card that read 'Kyle'. Further back there was the eccentric businessman who had had "to my saddest little valentine" written across the sky everyday for two weeks before and after Valentine's day.

There was the Las Vegas bust by FBI Agent Timmy Catherine, who had orders to strip search but refused. The flu epidemic in a small town, amazingly all treated by one man, a certain Dr. Jacob Sydney. The small girl with leukemia who's mother died, given a 'scholarship' into an expensive clinic, the funding coming from an anonymous trust set up, titled simply 'Faith'.

He was trying to find her, she understood that now, trying to apologise for the tricks he'd played and trying to attract her attention. Ever since that day in the park he had tried so hard to contact her, but she had refused to talk to him, hoping he would find his own life and leave her to her preparations. And two months later she had left, leaving a note for Sydney and Broots and, as far as everyone else was concerned, disappeared of the face of the earth. And now, a year later, she was still doing what she had done a few weeks after leaving. She was searching the papers for news on Jarod.

Miss Parker pushed the coffee-soaked newspaper aside, turning to another one. The pages flicked past her eyes as she searched, looking for the slightest clue. It had been weeks, and she had started to worry that Angelo had miscalculated, that the process was due to complete now instead of when he had specified. She had hoped for a few more years yet. Jarod's appearances in the papers had grown less and less lately, in accordance of the reports predicted manifestation of behaviour.

Parker felt her eyes misting up, and angrily she brushed aside her tears, her hand in violent motion as she whipped from page to page, she had to find him, he hadn't settled down, hadn't found his life, it was time to explain why it was so important if it wasn't already too late she hoped it wasn't too late--

There. A personal, almost insignificant, she'd been so close to missing it. Hungrily she read it, soaking up the words ...;

Male seeking female.

Single exploited male seeks similarly
exploited brunette female. Must have Ice Queen
attitude, compassion for orphaned children
and reason for sending me away.
For walks in park, apologies and explanations.
Responding personal will represent interest.

Parker smiled faintly, dragging out a small notepad and a pen, carefully writing down ideas, wondering how to phrase it just right ...;

*****

Lo! Death has reared itself a throne ...;

Jarod, or Parker Jaimeson as he was currently known, stared out over the city. His apartment was a penthouse, he had long since given up on dingy motel rooms and seedy one-room apartments. He was surrounded by wealth, anonymous investments proving successful, and no matter how much he gave away he still remained a wealthy man. He wore a Rolex, his suit was Armani, his shoes Gucci. Over the past year he had learned how to school his expressions, his face no longer showed the pain of losing her, now it carried the aloof frown of a man concerned only by money.

But he wasn't. He didn't give a damn wether he was a poor man or a rich man. Armani tended to itch, the Rolex he found to be a vulgar display of decadence, and the only reason he got the penthouse was because it was the furthermost one away from the ground. Or rather, the furthermost one away from being underground. Namely twenty-seven levels underground.

But people took him more seriously as a rich man. It was easier to bend people's ear, to make them realise that not everyone was as fortunate as they. More people were helped when he dressed up, more people began to care about the wrongs in society. But that didn't mean he cared any more than before. If anything, his care was slipping away from him, every failure to find Miss Parker chipping away at his compassion for others until he feared there'd be none left.

It hadn't seemed a daunting task at first. Miss Parker was gone, he was a genius. No problem, he'd find her in a few days. Later he amended that to weeks. Then months. Now he feared years. He didn't want to think beyond that. It was so important to him that he discovered why she changed her mind, what was in that Manila folder that she had held to her so desperately. He needed to know what gave her so much pain, so much fear.

But if he were honest with himself, he'd admit that his reasons were a lot more selfish than that. He needed to know why she had felt it necessary to cut him off completely from her life. Again. He'd never had the freedom when he was a teenager, to find out exactly why she had left for boarding school without a word. And now she had done it again, albeit under different circumstances, but only now did he have the resources, the freedom, to find out why. He wasn't sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Sighing, Jarod turned away from the windows, turning instead to the day's paper. With dread he picked it up, scanning through the personals, preparing himself for disappointment after this last effort to get her attention. Column after column he read, hoping for the best expecting the worst he didn't know what he'd do if she didn't respond oh please let her--

There. Jarod sat bolt upright in his chair, trying not to let himself hope as he read ...;

Female seeking male.

Female with vital information seeks
male with need to know. Should have
caring nature, absent family and
child-like innocence. For smiles, apologies
and explanations.
 
 

Jarod's chest heaved with emotion as he stared at the ad, his shaking hand reaching to pick up the phone. Still feeling dazed, Jarod called the newspaper, collecting the contact details of that specific personal from them. Taking several deep breaths Jarod dialled the number he had received, counting the rings. One, two, three, four, five.

"Hello?" her voice was tired, telling off many sleepless nights, but still it sent chills down Jarod's spine, it had been too long since he had heard her voice.

"Hello? Hello! Listen, creep, I am NOT in the mood for ...;" Jarod had forgotten to answer her, but her stream of words suddenly trailed off as the breath exploded from Jarod's chest, a breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding. "Jarod? Is that you?" she whispered.

'Oh Parker." Was all he could say, and felt a moment of hesitation when he listened to her responding silence.

"It's been a long time Jarod." She murmured, and suddenly he was angry, angry that she had left him, angry that he hadn't known weather she was alive or dead for all these months. But most of all angry because her cool tones made it sound as if she had responded to his ad because she was sick of him trying to contact her.

"Where the hell have you been!" he growled, immediately regretting it.

"This was not the response I was expecting Jarod, perhaps this was a mistake ...; " she replied, her hurt tones cutting him.

"No, wait, I'm sorry ...; it ...; it has been a long time ...;it's just ...;I've missed you, can I see you?  ...;Where are you?"
 
 

Death looks gigantically down...;
 

On a bench overlooking the park, in a park overlooking the city, Jarod sat. His hands were clenched into tight fists as he stared down at those around him, nervous butterflies tickling his stomach. She had agreed to meet him. It was a park not unlike the one he had fled so hastily from a little over a year ago, a lake rested in the folds of the earth below him, and children played with remote control boats.

He saw many parents cast furtive glances up at him, a strange man by himself watching children play was a suspect thing these days, and his appearance suggested no better. Dark smudges lay as reminders of sleepless nights under his eyes, his hair, too long, was dishevelled and his expression bleak. He did not know what to expect of their sudden reunion.

"You should have forgot about me." Parker's voice startled him, and he turned to see that she had slid noiselessly into the seat beside him.

"How could I?" he asked, and a brief, pained smiled flickered across her features.

"By finding the life, the family, you were denied. By settling down with some nice woman with no past and having a family of your own. By moving on."

"I tried you know." He replied, looking back across the park, "this last month I did nothing that I thought of as a 'Parker thing'. Nothing to attract your attention, nothing to get you to contact me."

"I thought you were dead...;" the words were out before she could stop them, tumbling from her mouth as she grimaced with regret. Jarod turned to look at her, no just his head but his whole body, studying her carefully before he spoke.

"Death by the Centre has never been a huge threat, especially not after you left. Why would you fear for my life?" he spoke slowly, each word with measured control, trying not to betray his anxiety as he watched tears slip down her face. For a long moment she was silent, refusing to look at him.

"Pretenders die Jarod." She whispered, and Jarod's hand clenched, he still didn't understand.

"Everybody dies Parker. Sooner or later." He stated, carefully watching her reactions, noting how her hand tensed, her mouth tightened.

"Pretender's die sooner than everybody else Jarod." Her voice was hoarse now, her pain obvious, but still Jarod pushed.

"Explain it to me." He grated, his cool veneer was slipping beneath a weight of tension, he had to know. Now Miss Parker turned to face him, her eyes probing.

"Did you ever wonder why I was the only female you came in contact with? Why I was sent away once you reached a certain age? Why they performed a sexuality experiment, why they kept you so isolated? Why they needed you back so damn badly, so quickly?" she questioned, and Jarod, confused, searched her face.

"They kept me isolated because they didn't want me 'contaminated'. They wanted me to be objective...;" he trailed of as Miss Parker shook her head.

"It was more specific than that Jarod. They wanted to prevent contamination from something in particular." Jarod's breathing was shallow now, short gulps of air that took all his effort.

"What?" he whispered.

"Pro-creation." She whispered, and Jarod stared incredulously at her, ready to question her, but she held up her hand, cutting him off.

"Think about it Jarod. They performed a sexuality experiment to see which gender you were attracted to. They allowed us to be friends, but only to a point. As soon as we started showing overt signs of sexual interest in each other I was sent away to boarding school, leaving you with your all-male care-takers. And the sexuality experiment had already proved that you weren't interested in them! Every sim you did had no reference whatsoever to sexuality, everything you did was made sure it was kept well away from that area.

Once you escaped they had no way of controlling your environment. That's why the Centre wanted you back so damn quickly. We all thought it was because they were losing money, but when has the Centre ever given a damn about money? It's because you went out into the world and were exposed to your own sexuality."

"But why would they try so hard to keep me away from it? What does it matter wether I've had sex or not?" Jarod asked, he still wasn't completely sure.

"Pretenders are genetically perfect Jarod. Their survival skills, mental abilities and social abilities are all off the charts. They are, in effect, the perfect human being. And what does every perfect or near-perfect being attempt to do Jarod?" her eyes were filled with tears now, and comprehension dawned across Jarod's face as he answered.

"Tries to pass its perfection along to others." He whispered, and Miss Parker nodded.

"Exactly. A Pretender's, at this stage in their evolution, sole purpose in life is to pass its perfection along to others, so the rest of the race may obtain it's perfection. By pro-creation. After they have done this, until the rest of the race is just as 'perfect', by evolutions standards there is no point in their existence.

The Centre wanted you back so quickly because they didn't want you to have enough time to 'pro-create'. They knew that once you had sexual relations with someone then you wouldn't have much time left. Your biological clock is ticking so to speak, its just going faster than everybody else's." she finished, and Jarod looked down at his numb hands, realising she was holding them in her own.

"I'm dying?" his voice was harsh with shock and pain, and he barely noticed Miss Parker's nod.

"Angelo predicted you have five to seven years, counting down from the...; act. Over time you'll steadily worsen, you'll lose all of your abilities, weight loss, memory loss...; it goes on." She finished quietly, stroking his hand in a gesture of comfort which he didn't notice.

"How did you find out?" he murmured.

"Remember that folder I was holding that day in the park? It was all in there. Angelo got it for me, even did some research of his own. Apparently the Centre had been carefully watching some confirmed Pretenders who were raised in society, that's how they were able to gather this information. It was an experiment which you were involved in, you in isolation, several other Pretenders on the outside of the same age, see which lived longest. Surveillance included being aware of all sexual activity. All of the Pretenders on the outside started to show signs of sexual interest by a certain age, almost instinctive, and three or four years after they experienced their first sexual encounter, or 'lost it' so to speak, they all headed downhill."

"And...; what of them now?" Jarod asked tremulously, not sure if he wanted the answer.

"None of them survived." She replied gently, and Jarod blanched, causing Miss Parker to frown worriedly. He was taking the news even worse than she had expected, but then again he had every right to the reaction he was having.

"Why?" he cried brokenly, "why couldn't I just have a normal life like everybody else?" and then the tears started, Jarod's harsh sobs drawing alarmed glances as Miss Parker drew him close, rocking him against her body and trying not to let her own tears fall.

A void within the filmy heaven...;
 
 

Miss Parker had taken Jarod back to her apartment, noting Jarod's dry amusement that they not only had been in the same city, but lived extremely close to one another. A faint smile had graced his lips briefly, giving her a moment of hope, but when she had next glanced over to him he was well on his way to utter despair. In the elevator he had leaned heavily against her, stumbling as she led him through the door of her apartment. She began to worry he was in shock, leading him to her bedroom where she had tucked him under her covers and fixing him a hot, sweet drink.

He had sipped at the drink, his ashen face regaining some colour, before tiredly pushing it aside. Gingerly she had placed it on the bedside table, surprised when she felt his strong arm wrap around her waist, dragging her onto the bed beside him. They lay like that for a long time, Jarod's face pressed against her skin as she held him, his ragged sobs keeping the silence at bay. Tenderly she had stroked his hair, trying to soothe away the cries that wouldn't stop, relieved when exhaustion claimed him, his even breathing telling of sleep.
 
 

No rays from the holy Heaven come down...
 

Parker awoke in an empty bed with the uncomfortable feeling of having slept in her clothes. Tiredly she sat up in the darkness of her bedroom, the glowing numbers of her alarm clock telling her it was very early morning. She pushed fragmented locks of hair off her face with one hand, straightening the itchy knot of her bra with the other, bleary eyes searching for Jarod.

Unsteadily she rose from the bed, searching her small but neat apartment for him, trying not to let the lump of misery that resided in her throat takeover as she found no sign from him. He had left her. She hadn't expected his departure so soon, the night before he had been in no state to go anywhere, but apparently he had woken sometime during the night and felt the need to escape. She felt shafts of guilt spear through her body, wishing she could have been there for him in some better way.

Wearily she flicked on some lights, going through the motions of coffee, spending long moments staring into space. The empty cup near the sink showed that he too had needed a hit of caffeine, and her conscience informed her that she at least should have awakened to the sounds of him moving around, if her sleep had not been so deep. He had needed her. And she realised that she needed him too.

Dawn approached, and Jarod felt trapped. The city, which had seemed a guarantee for anonymity in the previous months, now seemed to suffocate him. Tendrils of damp fog curled around him as he wandered the streets, unsure of where he was going. He had forgotten where he lived, forgotten where he was, forgotten what city he was in. Somewhere near the ocean. New York perhaps, or San Francisco. He had already found his way to the docks at some point.

One image stuck in his mind, the light rain that had begun to fall doing nothing to soak it away, a memory from long ago. He had been no more than ten, happening to overhear a conversation that, at the time, had confused him. Catherine Parker urgently whispering to her husband, her voice harsh in the ever-present silence of the Centre...

"He should have the right to do what other boys do, no matter what the consequences! Secluding him like this will only do him harm." Catherine hissed, and Jarod, not quite knowing why, stepped back into the shadows.

"It's for his own good. We're not sure what would happen if he were exposed, what if the defect in his genetics took affect after only mild contamination?" Mr Parker's voice was gruff with disapproval.

"But at least he would have a chance to experience all the things he's been denied! Surely that is worth it?" Catherine's voice was pleading now, but Mr Parker shook his head.

"The decision is not mine to make. I'll do what I can, perhaps he could have some visits with female subjects, to see the results, but the Triumvirate will not bend the rules any more than that!"

Jarod shook the memory off, realising that he had something else to add to the list of being thankful to Catherine Parker for. Without her intervention he might never have met Miss Parker, and life at the Centre would have been far more difficult without her company.

The light rain that had previously edged its way into his attention was now a torrential downpour, and the thought registered in Jarod's mind that he should find shelter. Quickly he dashed to the cover of the overhand of some near by shops, the rain bringing cold reality with it. He was wet, he was cold, and he was hungry. Slipping his hand into his pocket he found a set of keys, one of which opened the door of his penthouse apartment. His cold, unwelcoming, designer apartment, where the only neighbour was the sky. Where he wouldn't have to talk to anyone.

Slowly Jarod trudged along the streets, passing stores, which were slowly opening themselves to the world, offering their wares to all passer-bys. One store in particular caught his attention, and he paused outside the window, staring at the array of goods that was on offer. Some drowned their troubles in alcohol, thought Jarod, but he had his own way of doing things.

Grimly he headed inside, digging out some cash, dripping puddles on the floor from his soaked clothes, wildly surprised when he sneezed. And sneezed again. As he cruised the aisles of goods, Jarod shivered and sneezed, suddenly not feeling too great from his little foray into the rain...

On seas less hideously serene...

********

Miss Parker had a lot less trouble finding Jarod than he had her. If you asked the right questions, displayed the right attitude, people were happy to gush over him. Especially those of the female persuasion, Miss Parker mused, but quickly pushed the thought out of her head.

By roughly nine o' clock she had found where he was living, an apartment block the reeked of money. Parker dryly noted that it was a long way from the seedy hotel rooms he had once inhabited, and the fact that he had the penthouse only proved it. Reverting to the old façade of Miss Parker of Centre origin that had once earned her the title of "Ice Queen," Parker spoke to the maintenance man, quickly relieving him of his key with an icy stare.

The elevator opened into a tastefully decorated sitting room, the door to Jarod's apartment directly opposite the elevator, the only apartment on the floor. With shaking fingers she inserted the key into the lock, pushing the door open, her breath held in anticipation. No sign of him.

Miss Parker let released the breath she'd been holding, steeping carefully inside and closing the door. A soft crackle sounded as she did so. Parker looked down, realising she'd stepped on a candy wrapper. Which was identical to the one in front of it. Miss Parker gaped. The floor in front of her was covered in an assortment of candy wrappers, a trail leading off to one door.

Miss Parker carefully picked her way through the plastic on the floor, reaching the door without incident and carefully cracking it open. Jarod glanced up at her entry, sitting cross-legged on the bed, a chocolate bar paused half-way to his mouth. He was surrounded by bags and bags of candy, every variety Parker could imagine, and he was working his way through it a bag at a time. His face was flushed, his eyes glazed in a way that made Parker stare at him in concern.

"Jarod, are you okay?" she asked quietly, coming to stand beside the bed.

"I've, um, been feeling a little... great, how 'bout you?" he revised, and Miss Parker cleared a space on the candy laden bed, laying a palm across his forehead.

"Jarod you're burning up! You should be in bed, not stuffing yourself with candy!" she cried in alarm, and Jarod frowned. He felt better with candy, he'd decided that chocolate was a sure-fire way of forgetting your troubles, and thus decided to drown himself in it. But then again, he hadn't been feeling very well, and wasn't sure if the amount of sugar he had consumed was to blame.

"I have been feeling a little uncomfortable..." he admitted, and Miss Parker sighed, slowly clearing the bags and wrappers off the bed, much to Jarod's alarm.

"What are you doing?!? That's mine!" he hollered, sounding like a petulant child whilst making wild grabs for it, but only succeeded in toppling to the floor. Miss Parker finished her task and helped him up, sitting him on the edge of the bed as she unbuttoned his shirt, intent on getting him to lie down in bed.

"I always knew you were after my body..." he tried to joke, but his voice lacked its normal teasing tone, so he simply sounded more ill.

"You were out in the rain, weren't you." Parker scolded, pausing from her task as she realised how much she had just sounded like her mother.

Jarod meanwhile, was attempting to help her out, tugging his shirt from his shoulders and working himself to an upright position as he started on his jeans. So concentrated on his task was he that he didn't notice Miss Parker's expression, which had changed from bemusement to open mouthed wonder.

Jarod is beautiful, she thought, her eyes sliding down his sleek body, tight muscles gliding under golden skin, a sprinkling of raspy curls decorating his chest and flat brown nipples spaced evenly on his broad chest. Miss Parker had never seen Jarod this close before, and from the looks of Jarod's progress in undressing himself, she was about to see a whole lot more. He had his jeans down and was now kicking them off, his hands reaching for his red silk boxers. Of course he would sleep naked, she thought to herself, and quickly reached out a hand to stop him.

Jarod looked up at the contact of her cool hand on his fevered skin, his mind fighting the weariness that overcame him to recognise what he saw in her eyes. Desire. She wanted him. As he watched her hand slid up of its own accord, running over his chest and up to his shoulder, slipping across his arm, feeling the muscles there. Jarod drew his breath in sharply, an ache growing inside him as his body forgot it was supposed to be ill, his skin suddenly tinglingly aware of her touch, her breath fanning lightly across his cheek as she inched closer.

This is what he had always wanted, hell, always needed. An adolescence spent dreaming of a girl who had grown more and more distant from him, always remembering the kiss she had forced upon a willing subject. The woman he had loved, even as she had followed him across the country with gun in hand. The woman he had loved so much that when he couldn't find her it had damned near killed him.

Tenderly Jarod reached out, his hand a gentle caress on her cheek. And slowly he leaned forward, all his misery of the night forgotten as his lips touched hers, feeling her soft mouth moving underneath his in the lightest whisper of kisses. His hand found her waist, protectively cradling her hip in his hand, pulling her closer, his soul lifting as her gentle hand stroked his neck, happiness pervading his body. It didn't matter any more, none of it did, as he held this pure form of beauty in his arms and found they were the only two things in the world that each needed. He was dying, but as long as he had this, a moment out of time, he would not lose his way.

Slowly they pulled away, watching each other with broken hearts and joined souls, neither speaking as Jarod turned and slid into bed, Parker sitting beside him and stroking his forehead until he fell asleep.
 

For the rest of the day Miss Parker watched Jarod sleep, soothed him in his nightmares and bathed his forehead as his temperature steadily grew. A mid his mournful cries of terror he would have moments of lucidity, waking with gasps and muttering that he needed the DSA's. Parker longed to fulfil his request, but a quick search of the apartment did nothing to reveal their presence, and she was loathe to leave Jarod for too long in his sickly state. So she contented herself with making reassuring noises and helping to ease the path back to sleep.

By nightfall Parker was worried. His fever had not yet broken, he was complaining of a scratchy, sore throat and sleep without nightmares were few and far between. Anxiously she piled blankets around him, only to have them kicked off by Jarod as soon as she turned her back. His cries for the DSA's became more urgent, and several times he attempted to climb out of bed to find them himself, and it took all of her strength to push him back to bed.

Once she had waited the prescribed time between dosages, Miss Parker forced another two aspirin on him, hoping to lower his temperature and relieve his sore throat, but the task was not an easy one. Parker struggled to remember that Jarod had never really been sick in his life, and had no idea of day to day remedies. At roughly nine o' clock Jarod had another of his lucid moments, telling her that he felt terrible and must be dying, she should take him to a hospital. She diligently reassured him that he wasn't dying, he was just sick from being out in the rain, but she knew he didn't accept this explanation, and he fell back to sleep with a frown.

Eventually, exhausted herself, she crawled into bed beside him, throwing one arm over his waist in the hopes of keeping him anchored to the bed.
 
 

Disclaimer: Not mine blah blah blah no infringement intended. Title and Quotes from Edgar Allan Poe.

Authors Note: Most of the technical stuff is based on far out theories, Jarod's developing illness are very very real. Usually a side effect of CFS, it is suffered by only two percent of the nation (australia, 18 mil). I guess I'm really really lucky to have it then, huh?.
 

he's dying dear god he's dying my friend my lover my love my soul mate watch him waste a way his death sentence my life sentence this darkness this pain ours mine his pain he will leave me just as I left him as he left me and me him always leaving never together do they feel no shame no love no sympathy this death sentence my life sentence always knowing always bleeding my love I see no light in this darkness...

...and she was awake. Calming her breathing and shaking off the clinging tendrils of the nightmare, she automatically searched for Jarod. If he were still sick ... but no. He wasn't ill now, he was crying, the DSA's in front of him.

"They had me research my own death!" he whispered, "I remembered something, but it was so vague, so I looked it up... they told me it was a suicide gene to engineer into lower life forms. So when terra-forming mars was an option they could introduce low-level primates early on, without having to worry about them evolving, taking over the planet. It's a time bomb, I thought it was genetically engineered, tagged onto their DNA after they were born. But that's the lie. It's linked to a specific gene, can only ever been found attached to one specific gene. The Pretender gene. I was wrong, I thought it was tagged on later, I thought it was a form of parasite, living off the host species until it was triggered. But it's not, it's not that at all. We're born with it, it's not a parasite ... it's our life force! Pretenders are the parasites, not the tag! The same thing that triggers the suicide keeps us alive ... but only until we're complete. Only until we've had ample opportunity to procreate...
 

no scientist designed this, it's too perfect, too well constructed ...and ultimately ... too flawed ..." Jarod whispered finally, brokenly. Parker went to him, wrapping her arms around him and trying to absorb his ragged sobs. And she knew, whatever happened, they would go through it together, even with the inevitable despair they both faced.

The good and the bad and the worst and the best...

Jarod learnt pain. Far worse than the cruel tortures the Centre had inflicted on him, this pain did not pass. He did not heal, but neither did he have any visible wounds. His body was a map of agony, one he grew to know intimately.

It started gradually, achy bones, as if he had the flu. His medical knowledge taught him it was a sign of his immune system being too active, most people got this low level stress on their body when they were particularly ill, a side effect not of the illness, but of the immune system working so hard. But most people recovered.

And as the months went by, he would continue on his Pretends, returning always to the solace of Miss Parker's arms, taking his pain killers and anti-inflammatory's. His back always hurt, he spent long hours at chiropractors and acupuncturists, but to no avail. At night he couldn't sleep for the pain in his legs, brief snatches of sleep interrupted by dreams of flames eating at his knees. He swam, to exercise his joints, but that stopped quickly. After one cold morning doing laps he caught pneumonia, and was laid up for weeks. After that he took up yoga.

And eighteen months after finding out his personalised death sentence, Jarod started to cough.

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TBC

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