Disclaimer: The characters Miss Parker, Sydney, Jarod, Broots etc. and the fictional Centre, are all property of MTM, TNT and NBC Productions and used without permission. I'm not making any money out of this and no infringement is intended.

NOTE: This has serious spoilers as to the Pretender: Island of the Haunted movie. Should you read this, you've been warned. If you haven't seen the movie and need to be brought up to speed... here we go: Miss Parker and Jarod are on the island with Ocee, an elderly Scottish lady that sees with her heart, not her eyes and two monks who are unaware of each other. Jarod's mother got off the island safely on the last launch before the Devil's storm struck. Miss Parker has learned of her origin - the Scottish Cryptkeeper, her greatgrandfather, had once located the scrolls said to be either written by the hand of God or the paw of the devil, but they were moved by his daughter, "Little Miss Parker" who was referred to as "Angel" by her father. What is contained in the scrolls is unknown for many years, but we learn that they tell the story of the Centre, the future, what is to come. The Cryptkeeper burned his family alive in his cabin the night he left the island, and murdered the Priest he thought would know where the scrolls were as well. He never found the scrolls again, and left the island to found the Centre. The ghost Miss Parker-Angel-child has appeared to Miss Parker many times, leading her to clues as to where she hid the scrolls years ago, her origin, the Parker family cemetery, the doll that contained the key to the location of the scrolls, and several other vital things. After Parker and Jarod find the scrolls, Mr. Parker and Raines (one of which is her father, the other - her Uncle), accompanied by Lyle and several sweepers, arrive, kill the last monk who threatens to kill Parker and Jarod, and haul them off the Island of Carthis. The rest will come into play later. Now that you've been informed of this, we're picking up with all this information (some is already known, some is not), at the scene where Jarod walks into the room with Miss Parker's tea and she's changing behind the screen. Ocee interrupts them as they are about to kiss, but this takes off from there, without Ocee's interruption. Let's just say she went elsewhere without them, but we'll pick up with her later. Now, on to thestory!

'* Direct quote from Pretender: Island of the Haunted

Liza

(NDV)

His hand fluttered upward, coming to rest over her heart, and he smiled as he felt it pounding as hard as his.

His lips parted as her tongue slipped forward, and soon they were intertwined, hands, lips, tongues. Leaning

backward, Miss Parker's weight gave way beneath Jarod, and he pushed the blanket into the floor, pulling

them away from the hearth, lips leaving hers momentarily as he caught his breath, and stared back at her,

mesmerized. Her robe parted, tie loose, and she reached her hands upward, capturing his face in them.

"Jarod," she whispered, eyes open and sincere, more innocent and young than he'd seen them in decades.

And, with a smile, Jarod hovered over her, lips melding to lips as his hands undid the tie, pushing the fabric

aside. Her hands slid down his side, taking the sweater and pulling it over his head as he pulled his lips away.

"It's a shame, all the time you took to put on that sweater, and now..."

Jarod grinned in his most boyish way, "I saw you..."

Smiling back, Miss Parker informed him, "Yes, Jarod. I know. Please," she whispered, reaching up to capture

his lips, "shut up." Her fingers tugged at his undershirt and soon it was dispensed with, as were his pants. The

robe was pushed from her shoulders, and then he leaned backward again, eyes roaming over every visible

expanse of flesh, memorizing the smoothness of skin and the depth of her eyes he'd never before seen.

"God," he whispered, sliding downward and placing a kiss on her collarbone, his hands moving down her

sides, caressing heated skin. Her fingers slid into his hair, smiling as they trailed through the strands that had

grown longer since they're last encounter.

"Sexy," she wanted to whisper, but his hands moved downward, sliding beneath the elastic of her underwear

as his lips moved lower to capture first one breast, then the other. First it was with a kiss, then a caress, and

lastly his lips descended to one nipple, then the second, laving and nibbling as she groaned. "Jarod," she

hissed, as his hands returned to her hips, and she kicked the last of her clothing down her legs.

Again, Miss Parker clutched his head to her chest, and she sighed as he chuckled against her, then seemed to

snap back to reality, "Ocee! What if Ocee comes in?" she whispered, and his flushed face moved to meet

hers, hands sliding up and down her body, from the swell of her breasts to the flare of her hip.

Smiling, he whispered back, "She won't." And then his hands slid to her inner thighs, and her eyes fell closed

as she fought to retain control and push his boxers away. He slid down her body slowly, hands and lips

leaving a trail of warm wetness that the heat of the fire seemed to kiss away, until finally he began to nip

behind her knees, the flesh of her inner thighs, and lastly, landing upon her sex.

"Jarod!" she groaned again, hands falling from his head to clench the robe that lay bunched beneath her, her

eyes open as she watched his every movement. She, through a fog induced by lust and other unimaginable

things she was feeling toward her prey, fought to commit to memory the way he looked there, the things he

was doing to her, the feelings he had aroused. He was lean and lightly tanned, long and hard and so much

more beautiful than she'd imagined. And with that thought, her eyes fell closed and she arched her back, his

tongue teasing the small nub as two fingers slid within her. "Oh God."

"You," he whispered, pulling backward as he watched her writhe and move before him, "are so beautiful. So

beautiful," and Jarod's tongue returned to his task, nipping and teasing.

Moments later, he pulled back again, and began his track back up her body, leaving her groaning and gaping,

awaiting his return. Slick fingers slid over hard nipples, along the line of her jaw, and past her lips. Parker

sighed as his fingers plunged into her mouth, and she licked the stickiness from them, smiling as he groaned

at the light sucking motion. "Parker..." he seemed to warn.

"I want to... touch you, Jarod," she whispered, hands sliding down his chest, flicking each nipple as he sighed,

muscles taut and eyes shut tightly, across his back, lightly marking his skin, laying her claim. And she laughed

softly as she took him into her hands, and he threw his head back from the lightest touch, still hovering over

her though she was more than willing to sit up. She smiled as he throbbed in her hand, and stroked first the

very tip, then the underside, then began to rhythmically caress his organ.

"Parker..." he warned again, then finally pushed his arms up the whole way, sliding from her grip as she

smiled a little, then looked at him in bewilderment. "I want... I need..." Jarod paused, his face full of tension

as he breathed heavily, "to know..."

"I know," she whispered, "I do. I want this, Jarod," Parker's voice was quiet but determined and she fleetingly

wondered if Ocee could hear them, but returned back to her thoughts quickly. "I won't regret this. I won't

regret you," the words were accompanied by a smile he'd anything but forgotten - something he hadn't seen

since they were children, longing for acceptance and love. "Please, Jarod."

"You know," he whispered back, eyes full of wonder, "I do... Parker, I feel..."

"I know," she responded, afraid of the words he might say, and her hands slid to his back, and she pulled him

down to her. Again, his lips captured hers, tongue thrusting inside of her mouth as he slid inside of her

slowly, and he felt her sigh against him, holding a hand against his chest for a moment. When her hand was

removed, he slid further inside of her, and then was fully engulfed. "Oh, Jarod," Miss Parker whispered, as

she rocked back against him, moving in a slow but demanding counter-rhythm to his own movements.

He positioned his hips above hers, holding himself up with his arms as if he were afraid to crush her, and

began to move quickly, harder, each motion more demanding than the last. She met him eagerly, and in mere

minutes, both collapsed, a sheen of sweat visible on their bodies as they laid before the fire, wrapped in each

others' arms, still panting as they slid from the high they'd careened into.

Her eyes drifted closed as she pulled the robe and blanket tighter around both of them, rolling so that she lay

on top of Jarod, still holding him within her, and she whispered, "I don't regret you, Jarod. I don't regret

you."

***

"What the hell are you doing?" Miss Parker called to her father, writhing and struggling against Lyle's grip

almost futilely. Her joints ached as he pulled her along, arms tight behind her back. "You're too old to go

flying through windows, Parker," she thought to herself, shifting her hips with an audible groan. What had

started out as a pleasant ache reminiscent of time well spent with Jarod, had turned to almost-excruciating

pain when coupled with their being assaulted by a monk and the acrobatics Jarod had pushed her into doing

during their flight through the Chapel of Souls' window.

"Getting you and the labrat off this island before he runs again!" Lyle informed her, and she twisted her head

to the side, catching Jarod in her sights as he struggled against Willie and a sweeper she could not name. "Cut

it out, Parker! I'm not going to hurt you - yet!" his hands tightened on her arms, digging into her skin and

leaving visible bruises.

She sneered, "How comforting!" And then Jarod's voice caught her attention again, even as she wondered

why they treated her as a prisoner as well. "I was found conspiring with Jarod," Miss Parker thought to

herself, "Imagine if they'd come a few hours earlier," and she grinned.

"It'll never fly! The wind's too strong, it'll carry us right into the sea!" Willie and the other sweeper dropped

his arms and pushed him forward.

"Oh, well," Lyle grinned, dropping his sister's hands only as he clasped handcuffs over her wrists. He shoved

her forward and she stumbled, falling into the grass in front of the Centre helicopter where the men who

would soon identify themselves as father and uncle waited.

Jarod struggled with rage, as Lyle fingered his gun, Miss Parker on her knees before him, breathing as deeply

as she could before trying to stand. Slowly she succeeded, and Jarod was led to a corner of the helicopter but,

at Lyle's request, was left unchained. He shoved Miss Parker roughly onboard, and she landed beside Jarod,

jerking her hands against the cuffs as wisps of hair flew around her face.

"You try to escape, and I'll shoot her in the back. She will bleed to death, Jarod."

Raines and Mr. Parker exchanged a look as the chopper took off, Miss Parker spitting at Lyle, "Uncuff me!"

He shook his head and her eyes narrowed further even as they dropped. She emitted a low growl in protest

but said nothing as the aircraft lurched over the sea, winds violently tossing it.

Raines turned to look through the glass, eyes widening as he took in the height of the waves and the tremors

of the helicopter.

"Back to Carthis!" he hissed, oxygen flowing through his nose as he spoke.

"What in the devil for?" Parker demanded, hands roaming over the leather-bound case that held the scrolls.

"Too late," Jarod sighed, his eyes sliding over to where his childhood friend struggled with her handcuffs.

He'd heard the telltale popping moments before and knew she would soon slip her hand through it, and have

to relocate her thumb. But again the plane lurched, lowering dangerously. In moments, Jarod had slid a

lifevest over his arms, grabbed Miss Parker, and thrown her and himself from the helicopter as he had the

window, his arms linked around her bound wrists.

And then, as Lyle raged in protest, bringing his gun to the open door, the helicopter dove into the sea,

propeller screeching as it attempted to cut through the water.

Ignoring his aching limbs, Jarod broke the surface, pulling the woman who'd chased him for years up with

him, but he did not hear her gasp for air.

For a second, he let his fear freeze him as it would any normal man, but then he remembered how abnormal

he, she, and the situation was, and began paddling toward shore. All the while, the helicopter continued to

sink, though he saw no one else swimming for shore.

Snow and rain poured around them, melting into her hair as he laid her on the beach, shivering and breathing

shallowly. Quickly, Jarod caught his breath and again lifted his huntress, his Miss Parker, into his arms,

stumbling toward the Chapel of Souls, seeking refuge alone, no longer the answers.

He forged toward the footpath, turned to the left, and entered Ocee's shop instead, taking her to the

backroom where they'd made love only hours before, and stripped her of her soaked clothing, wrapping her

in the quilt he'd handed her earlier.

Miss Parker's unconscious mind seemed to intercept Angelo's words as he spoke them, and her breathing

grew stronger as she heard him screech, "Teribilis est locus iste! Teribilis est locus iste! Terrible things, terrible

things happen here! Terrible things! Daughter... hurt! Daughter... need friend! Need friend help!"

And in Blue Cove, Sydney and Broots exchanged startled looks as Angelo continued to shriek, "Little Miss

Parker... Daughter hurt!

Friend must help Angel!"

***

"Parker…Parker…" he whispered her name urgently as she shivered beneath the blanket, "Wake up."

She blinked quickly as he blurred before her, finally fading into one being. "Ja…rod?" her voice cracked.

He let out a breath, "Good, you're awake. I think you're dehydrated, I've got more of Ocee's tea for you," he

offered her the cup as she fought to prop herself up, clutching the blanket closer.

"What happened?" she asked, voice strained as she blinked rapidly, "Where's my…" Miss Parker trailed off.

"Oh."

"I don't know where they are," he whispered, understanding her concern for her father, hanging his head, "I

didn't go back for them, you were hurt." He leaned back on his heels, working the fire. "I didn't think, I

should've gone back." The guilt on his face at not rescuing his tormentors clenched at her heart.

"No, you did the right thing," and she quickly finished the rest of the tea, "You always do the right thing."

Jarod lifted his eyes, ready to argue, but stopped his speech as he caught the glazed look on her face,

"Parker?"

"Terrible things," she whispered, eyes closed.

"The voices? Your mother's voice?" Jarod probed, scooted closer, hands drawing the blanket tighter around

her as it slipped from her grip, the thunder drifting further away as they spoke.

"No… no, it's Angelo. He's trying to tell them," she bolted completely upright, "Oh God, Broots and Syd,

they don't know. I need to call them, they're…"

"Worried?" Jarod supplied with a grin, wondering where the old Miss Parker had faded to and hoping the

woman he was half-holding would stay in place. "I haven't seen any phones, and there are no visible lines,

perhaps they're underground?"

"There has to be a phone, Jarod! There are phones in every corner of the civilized world! And in case you

haven't noticed," Miss Parker rationalized, "This is no farming community, yet they have plenty of food, and

what about medical attention? There has to be a way to conduct business and get mainland medical care." She

finished her argument and wobbled as she attempted to stand, fighting the world that attempted to blur.

"Sit," Jarod sighed, standing and pushing at her shoulders, urging her downward. "You're right, Miss Parker.

We could look for this elusive phone or you could give me your cell phone and let me tinker. I'm sure you

have an extra battery, being that you're always prepared," he grinned boyishly, "Where's your bag?"

"Oh yeah, I'm a regular girl scout," she rolled her eyes, "Behind the changing screen," Parker's voice sounded

almost pained, and in moments Jarod was playing with the cellphone, poking at the power terminal with her

nail file. "Don't break it," she ordered, but the words were unneeded and she rubbed her throbbing temples,

Angelo's words ringing in her ears.

"Terribilis est locus iste! Terrible things happen here!" And with eyes closed, she envisioned the plaque above

the monastery doorway, red candles before the alter, the giggling of the Cryptkeeper's daughter, and her

shattered doll lying on the floor.

Her eyes snapped open as she swallowed a yelp, yet she did not see Jarod. Before her was the man she called

'Father' for so many years, eyes boring into her with a determination she didn't remember him possessing.

"Hold onto something Angel," his gaze slid to Jarod, lips fighting a grin, "you can't come with me, this time."

A smile and a nod, "The new Parker legacy begins with you."'*

And then, just as he'd appeared, he was gone, leaving her to cry out, "Daddy!"

"Miss Parker? Miss Parker?" Jarod questioned, returning to sit in front of her, phone ceasing it's ringing as he

flipped it open, holding it out to her. "Parker! What's wrong? Do you hear something?"

Shaking her head violently, Miss Parker stood, dropping the quilt and taking the phone even as she shivered.

"Hello?"

"Miss Parker!" Sydney breathed, "Thank God!"

"We've been worried, where are you? Wait a minute, Syd, did she just say…?" he turned to Sydney, who

smiled in response, returning to his seat behind the desk.

"Where are you?"

"I…" she paused, brow crinkled, as Jarod slipped the quilt over her bare shoulders, chastising her.

"Do you want to catch pnuemonia?"

Miss Parker clutched the ends of the blanket together at her breast, and glared at him, returning to her

phone conversation. "This Isle of Carthis," she sighed, sending a look at her childhood friend. "The scrolls,

Sydney."

"Scrolls?" he paused, "They're a Centre legend, Parker. They don't exist," Sydney argued, an eyebrow raised at

Broots, who walked to the airvent where Angelo was tapping impatiently, awaiting permission to enter.

"They're real, Sydney," Jarod argued, taking the proffered phone and guiding them back before the fire. "We

found them."

"What? Real? Jarod…" he began to stand as Angelo entered, wanting to question many things, among them

how they'd found the supposedly nonexistent scrolls and why they were together.

"We didn't read them, no time. Raines, Lyle, and Daddy Parker arrived to retrieve the scrolls…" his voice

filled with bitterness, "and me."

Parker's hand fell against his elbow, uncharacteristically supportive of him, "They handcuffed me, Jarod, it

wasn't just…you."

"And Parker," he amended. "The chopper crashed, we were the only ones who got back to land, Syd. There's

no way off the island, at least not until the launch returns.

Broots chuckled, sounding amused, and Angelo spoke. "Daughter… friend, daughter need help. Help… her."

"Miss Parker's fine," Jarod insisted to no avail.

Again, Angelo interrupted, "Terribilis est locus iste! Terribilis…" even as Sydney stood, approached, and tried

to calm him.

Jarod turned to look at Parker, who was staring toward the curtains that blocked off the front of the shop,

and sighed, "Parker, talk to Angelo, he's worried about you," his voice was puzzled, eyes concerned. And yet,

she didn't respond, eyes still fixed on the other side of the room. Again, she dropped the quilt, turning to face

him as she slipped the cotton robe over herself, tying the sash hurriedly.

"Parker?"

Peeking through the curtain was a young girl, perhaps eight years old, almost-blond waves curling around her

face and the collar of her sailor-style dress. She giggled, and waved at the woman she'd been playing her game

with, "Come with me!" her voice carried a Scottish lilt.

"Miss Parker, what are you doing? Parker!" Jarod tried to get through to her.

Miss Parker finally shook herself, turned to him, and replied, "I'll be back. Angel wants…"

"Angel? The girl? Where…" his eyes flitted around the room as his hand, still closed around the phone, fell to

his side. He saw no one, then turned to Parker, who moved toward the front of the room.

The girl giggled again, crooking a finger, and turned to run, Miss Parker following closely, crying out, "Angel,

wait!"

"Jarod! Jarod!" Broots called into the phone, along with Sydney, and he brought the phone back to his ear,

moving quickly toward the front of Ocee's shop. "What's happening?"

"She's following a ghost, Sydney; one only she can see. I have to find her before something… she leads her to

the clues, the little girl I have to…"

"Go, Jarod," Sydney spoke, but his voice was muffled by Angelo's cries.

"Burning, burning! Daughter… burns! Fire… I tego arcana Dei! Daughter… burns!"

The phone fell to the floor as Jarod shot from Ocee's Herbal Remedy store toward the footpath, yelling,

"Miss Parker! Where are you, Parker? Parker!" as he stumbled along in the snow.

And up ahead, he saw the prints of her bare feet in the fallen snow, and then, they were gone.

***

"Angel! Miss Parker!" she called, twisting around in a circle, looking for the girl. She stood in the snow,

perhaps a quarter of a mile from the Chapel of Souls' doorway, the sign blaring it's prophecy. "Terribilis est

locus iste," Angelo had said, and his words rang in her ears as she rattled off the Latin softly, turning and

turning in her search for the girl. "Angel! Where are you?"

The little girl did not speak, nor giggle, nor cry; she pushed open the doorway, curls bouncing against her

shoulders, a solemn look painted across her face as she walked across the carpet, Miss Parker following

closely behind. The child slid into a small lowered room reminiscent of a Catholic confessional inside the

chapel, leaving the door cracked so her accomplice could enter quickly.

Miss Parker entered the room and sat on the bench the little girl stood in front of, waiting patiently for her to

speak. "I read the scrolls, too, you know," her voice was a whisper much like the cold winds that blew across

the Isle of Carthis then. "Only part, of one, but I know…" she giggled, "You and him, that Jarod," she shook

her head, pointing at Parker, "the chosen ones."

Her expression was somber, almost sad, but then she started as a door down the way opened with a creaking

protest, and Parker sat straighter, reflexively reaching for the gun that was not there. She mulled over the

girl's words, but had no time to question her even as she stood.

"Run!" the littlest Miss Parker whispered, "Run, quickly! Follow me or we'll burn!" This time, there was no

giggling, no silence, no tears, only heavy and dry sobs as the child raced down a passageway, the woman again

hot on her heels.

"Burn! Burn! You must burn for your transgressions! You have betrayed the Disciple of the Crypt and his

followers! Traitors and men that commit such treasonous actions must burn as the Book says! You must

burn!" The words filtered into the hallway as they ran, sounding crazed and angry even as they were muffled

by several sections of walled brick and mortar.

"Jesus God in heaven, I'm on an island with homicidal freaks, a few dozen ghosts, and Jarod," she thought to

herself, but couldn't help but chuckle as the last word slid past her lips of its own accord. "And Jarod," she

sighed, but was soon hurried along by the child's frightened call.

"Hurry, hurry or you'll burn the rest! You must hurry!" and then she disappeared around the corner, leading

Parker into darkness she feared would lead to a dead end.

"Parker!" Jarod yelled, "Parker, are you in there?"

"Yes! What took you so long?" she replied, grunting as she sped up, bare feet slapping against hardwood

floors as she followed the sound of his voice, fire almost licking at her heels. And then she saw him, standing

shadowed in the light at the end of the pathway, snow swirling behind him as he held the doorway open for

her, ushering her onward. Launching herself into his arms, they tumbled into the snow, rolling away from the

cellar-like doorway as the fire rushed toward the open air. Clutching herself as tightly against him as she

dared, Parker again succumbed to darkness as the back of the thick robe and coat was soaked by the snow.

Her father's voice harmonized with her mother's as Jarod's voice seemed more distant as he began to lift her

again, citing pneumonia and frostbite and so many other things she could've suffered from, but she no longer

felt the physical cold as she listened to their words, an emotional vice clamping around her heart and holding

back her tears.

"The Centre shall rise," they read together, slightly off-key and a little out of sync with each other, "The

Chosen Ones will be found… A boy named Jarod," Mrs. Parker seemed to sigh, and her daughter could

subconsciously imagine her looking down in shame as her father looked on, puffing out his chest with pride,

"and a girl called Angel." Their voices blended again before his faded away, "And," Catherine Parker read

with more emotion, her husband falling into the darkness as she whispered the rest, "the Centre shall fall by

their hand alone."

***

"We must get to the Isle of Carthis, Broots, immediately. Get on that machine and find a way!" Sydney

ordered in an uncharacteristic display, as he watched Angelo. The empath stood at the far wall of Miss

Parker's office, cluctching a stick of chalk in his hand as he illustrated the surface.

"Terriblis est locus iste," the words were blurred above the drawing, which Angelo sketched the last lines of,

then slowly began to back away.

"Daughter…fear," Angelo shook his head, the depiction having transcended from his friend's mind to his

own. "Son," he whispered, a very Angelo-like grin crossing his face as he pointed to himself. "Daughter," he

pointed at the drawing and backed away, leaving Sydney and Broots to attempt understanding his detailed and

well-done sketch.

The child could be no more than ten or eleven years old, probably younger than that, Sydney realized, as he

took in the details of the right side of the portrait. She was beautiful, young, innocent, all of the things his

Miss Parker was and had been. Her hands curled around the sides of the grave marker, blond hair curling

around her face where it rested at the side, barely obscuring words he could still read. "Little Miss Parker,"

the tombstone proclaimed, the finely etched words still easily read though time had not treated the cemetery

well. At the left side of the drawing, a hand was extended, delicate and slim, toward the child, who looked on

with a strange sense of awe and understanding. The older Miss Parker's arms were extended, beckoning the

child to come closer, to be comforted, to be safe, her eyes were pleading and tired. The arms the clutched her

forearms held her backward, even as she had fallen to her knees.

"What does it mean, Sydney?" Broots asked, still not understanding the image itself or the motive behind it.

"It means, Broots, that we need to get to the Isle of Carthis, now. Find some way. There has to be

something," he whispered, then turned to face the man who still fidgeted with the coffee cup that proclaimed

him the World's Greatest Dad.

"The drawing…"

"Miss Parker has found some of her answers, Broots, and I have a feeling Jarod has too. But with the

answers," his voice stilled to a whisper then raised again in volume, "come more questions and more danger,"

the psychiatrist paused again, taking in Broots' tired and somewhat haggard form. He was worried too,

Sydney knew, and he sighed with relief that he was not fighting a battle for his proteges alone. "Miss Parker's

Inner Sense sometimes blurs the lines between here and there, life and death. The child has been dead for

centuries, perhaps a great aunt or a cousin of some sort, but she has a heart very much like Parker herself.

The child has been communicating with her, and vice versa, and our Miss Parker wants to help her," he

paused, "to save her. The voices conflict each other sometimes, and then she must listen to her heart, and

she feels that the girl, the little Miss Parker is very much a kindred spirit, and alive in her death. She wants her

to leave with them, she doesn't quite understand that she can't." Sydney's face twisted into a calm sort of

smile. "She's got a very big heart, Broots, she just doesn't want us to know it."

"And…" the man now seated at a computer asked, "where is Jarod?"

"Ah, you see the hands on Parker's arms, restraining her, trying to help her?" Broots nodded, prompting the

other man to continue. "He does not see the girl, his gifts extend only in the realm of Pretending, while

Parker has the Inner Sense and a gift of empathy not unlike Angelo's, but not nearly as strong. He only sees

Parker in pain, trying to understand something he can not grasp. He is doing what he always does, fighting to

protect and save, and, perhaps," Sydney grinned at Broots, "caring for her?"

"Friend…" Angelo grinned, bouncing excitedly, "Friend love… daughter. Love daughter… much," but he

sobered as Sydney and Broots exchanged a glance filled with emotions akin to confusion and concern, "but

can't save Daughter. Daughter must save… self… and child. Friend… can't save them now."

"Hurry Broots, we must charter the Centre jet and a boat, we have to get there… quickly!"

----

"Come with me?" Parker beckoned, hand extended to the child as she held the gravemarker as she would her

own mother, "We're leaving soon…" her voice stumbled as she named the girl, "Miss Parker. Please? I don't

want to leave you here."

Jarod dropped the unconscious woman again by the fire, removing the robe and lightly rubbing her flushed

skin with a towel to remove the water from the snow and the soot from the fire. His mind wandered to the

man that had set it in the first place, a man he could not identify and probably would not find.

"Have to get off this island," he muttered, as he let his hands stray to his childhood friend's face, "It's going

to be okay, Parker. We're going to get off this island. It's going to be okay." And he draped the quilt over her

again, then lay beside her, pulling her into his arms, even as she cried out in her own tortured form of sleep.

"Come… Angel…" and Jarod placed a kiss against her smoky-smelling hair, unable to understand just what

she was seeing and feeling in her darkened state.

Hours passed.

"I was born here, and I died here!" the little girl sighed, hair sweeping against her jaw as she rejected the

brunette's offer. "I cannot leave. This is home, for me. Not for you, though."

"I don't want to leave you here!" Miss Parker argued, "It's not safe… these people…"

"Canna' hurt me anymore!" her accent grew stronger as she shook her head, and crept from the tombstone to

face the woman who had grown to be her great-niece. "No one can hurt me anymore! But they can hurt you,

and they will. You must go when he asks, leave this place. The scrolls… are not destroyed, they will never be.

But they are gone for now and will not hurt your children or their children, but in generations to follow…

you must fight for them. You canna' stay here, the new Parker legacy begins with you!" the childish voice had

risen to a shriek. "The second prophecy has begun! Go!"

"I don't want… you… I…" Parker stammered, unsure what so say but knowing that it was yet to be finished.

"I am a part of you," the young girl smiled, calming down from her fit. "You will carry me with you always,

and he will meet me soon."

Though she did not identify the 'he', Parker understood that she meant Jarod.

"I am with you now," the girl giggled, and crept forward further, "and so is he, but him you will not meet yet.

You must wait," the girl's hand opened, and an almost dry tuft of snow exploded into the air as if it were

feathers of down. The open hand turned downward and the child leaned forward.

"It shan't be long now, and you will see us again, but you must leave the Isle before the evil returns, before

the fire consumes us… them… too."

"Wh…who?" Parker fought to whisper, feeling herself fade and flicker away, almost as if she were the ghostly

one and not the child. "They?" And she felt her voice sucked away by a wind she could not feel as it pressed

against her lungs and pushed the air from her body.

"We are with you," the child smiled, and nodded, and her downturned hand fell against the older woman's

heart, before she too faded away.

"And the Centre shall fall…" her words echoed against Parker's ears and reverberated within her chest.

And she lurched forward, Jarod's open arms grasping her as she fought to breathe, gulping air she'd felt

denied. Seconds later, she fell back into the darkness, her parting words to her lover, "We must go…"

Though she said no more, the Pretender nodded, hearing the whir of a boat's motor as it approached the

dock, and lifted her into his arms. He did not see the smile that worked across her face or the hand that fell

against her side as he carried her toward what his heart deemed safety.

Pausing as he reached the overlook, Jarod looked down to see Sydney and Broots waiting restlessly at the

dock, looking from side to side as they wondered where to begin.

"Jarod! Parker!" Sydney called out, spotting the man near the top of the hill. And he sighed, beginning the

descent to the boat.

"It's not over yet," he muttered to himself, "I'm gonna find you, Mom. Soon. I'm gonna find you."

And miles away, a lone figure stood, flexing his limbs as he rubbed his bandaged hand. "Goddammit," he

hissed, "it's not over yet. No no, it's not over yet." And he dove into the water again, hands outreached and

eyes wide open as he searched for the briefcase containing his treasure.

The first prophecy was complete.

***

"It's been three days," Sydney sighed, voice ragged. The phone had grown heavy in the older man's hand, and

he almost heard his protégé grimace.

"The trauma to her body and mind… she may need more time to heal or come to terms with all that she's

learned."

Sydney paused and raked a hand through Miss Parker's hair, his eyes sliding over her face. "Have you found

your mother, Jarod?"

"I'm close, Sydney, I'm close." And the unmistakable click signaled to the older man that he'd hung up the

phone.

With a low grumble, Sydney turned back to Miss Parker, seeing her eyes shift and her eyelids flutter.

"We're with you…" she heard the girl giggle again, curls bouncing about her face, then she too had vanished

and the woman opened her eyes to the light.

"Parker? That's it, come on…" Sydney smiled as her eyelids parted and she blinked rapidly, adjusted to the

light.

"Where am I?" she whispered, her tongue flicked outward to moisten her lips.

"The Centre infirmary."

"The Centre!" she spat, shooting upward, fighting a wave of dizziness.

"No, no, its safe," he soothed, "they're gone, Parker, dead in the storm. It's over, it's safe."

"It's not over, it'll never be over," she whispered, and her free hand fell back to her side as she sighed. After a

moment, Miss Parker whispered, "And Jarod?"

"He's not far, Parker. He's looking for his mother, and I have every reason to believe he'll find her."

"Yes," she smiled to herself, "he will." Another second passed and she added thoughtfully, "Will he come

back, you think?"

"If he's given a reason," Sydney smiled to himself, patting her hand with his.

She hid her own smile and sighed, "Oh, I think I can give him a reason." Her tone was light but filled with

sincerity.

"And, Miss Parker, what exactly happened on the Isle of Carthis?"

The brunette picked at the blanket beneath her arm and turned away from him to stare at the wall, "The

scrolls…"

"I'm not talking about the scrolls, Parker."

She sighed again, "I know, Sydney." Turning back to look at him, she stifled a yawn and said, "I know some

of what was in the scrolls."

Sydney's eyes filled with alarm, and he sat up straighter without conscious effort, "You read them?"

Parker shook her head, "No, but Daddy did. And Mama did. I heard them."

"What did they say?" his voice was gentle, as it always was when he was cajoling her, and she grinned again

before speaking.

"Many things, Syd, many things," a pause, "They told of the rise of the Centre, the chosen ones, the fall. Of

Angel, and Jarod, and even… me," she turned away again, "And of the children."

"The ones the Centre kidnapped?" the good doctor's voice was filled with grief and regret, as he couldn't help

but think of Jarod.

"No," she shook her head, a smirk playing on her face. She felt like a child with a secret, ready to begin a

game of "I know something you don't know", but instead she just shook her head again and added. "No, they

were part of the prophecy, but not significant parts, they weren't mentioned by name as the rest were."

"What children?" Sydney's curiosity had reached its peak. And his thumb fidgeted on the table near his cell

phone, almost itching to call Jarod for details. But when she turned to him, he realized what she was saying,

what Jarod didn't know. "Parker…"

"Children borne of the Centre's fall, Sydney, the most significant of them all."

"Your children?"

"My children," she smiled, and Sydney was reminded of a contented cat by the way she seemed to almost

stretch and glow, the smirk still present on her face. Yes, he thought, that little girl within her was very much

alive and playing her games.

"Jarod's children?"

"His, too," she nodded, then closed her eyes for a moment.

"Together?" he felt like bouncing as he asked, already knowing the answer but deciding to ask regardless.

Parker chuckled to herself, sounding very much like the man who'd been her adversary for so long,

"Perhaps." She sighed to herself, opened one eye, and peered up at him, scrutinizing him with her half-gaze.

"Not a word, Freud. And don't tell him. He needs to find his mother first, then he'll come back and I'll tell

him. The Centre is incapacitated for now, we'll be safe for a while."

"Parker…"

"Trust me, Sydney. I am a Pretender too, you know," this time she was patting his hand.

The uncertainty that had been in his voice evaporated, seemingly into thin air, and he smiled, "How could I

have forgotten? Are you thinking of happily ever after, Miss Parker?"

"I've never liked fairy tales, Sydney," she paused, "But for once we have the luxury of time, and I intend to

use it to my advantage. Broots and Debbie will need a new place to live, as will you and your family, and me

and the children. We have to prepare ourselves, the Centre may be gone for now, but who's to say it won't

rise again?" Parker crinkled her brow, the words echoing within her brain, and she chose to ignore the voices

and continue, "And while there may be no Centre, there's bound to be someone – or something – else. We

must plan for every contingency."

"You are Catherine's daughter," Sydney chuckled, "But we can wait to worry until you're fully healed," he

leaned forward and planted a kiss on her forehead.

"I've been in bed for days, Sydney."

"Ah but this child you're speaking of…"

"Children, Sydney," she interjected, "two."

"Ah, twins? Parker…"

"The Inner Sense," she informed him, cutting off his question in mid-sentence once again. "I'm going to

sleep for a while, Sydney, but when I wake up, we have to contact Jarod, then get going."

"Yes, Miss Parker," he smiled, standing straighter and stepping backward from her bed. She seemed so small

and thin, almost like the child he remembered, as her hair spilled out on her pillow and she let her hands slip

beneath the blanket onto her middle.

"Not a word, Sydney," she reminded, allowing her eyes to fall close.

He nodded, knowing she wouldn’t see him, and stepped from the room. "It's yours to tell, Parker."

And then, he too was gone.

Sighing to herself, Parker finally listened to the voices as they roared within her. "Rise again… rise again!" it

muttered, but this time it wasn't her mother's voice, and the woman shivered as she tuned it out.

"Come back, Jarod," she whispered as she turned her face into the pillow. "You have to come back."

And on the outskirts of Blue Cove, Jarod started a Ford Taurus and sighed, dropping the two pictures he

held onto the passenger seat, the newer one facing upward, haunting him, the brunette hair swirling around

her face much as a certain unseen blond child's had, brilliant blue eyes staring into his own. Beneath the

picture lay an older one, well-loved and worn, and he sighed to himself as he envisioned it. "I'm coming

Mom, and I'm going to bring you home." With a smile, he put the car in drive and pulled onto the backroad,

and added, "Then I'm coming home to you."

"The Centre shall rise… the Chosen Ones will be found… a young boy named Jarod, and a girl called

Angel… the Centre shall fall by their hand alone…" the woman spoke softly into her daughter's ear, then

backed again toward the window. "The children will be borne of the fall, as Isaac and Ishmael, Cain and Abel,

and they shall be named Raza and Mara, of contentment and bitterness. And the Centre shall rise again."

The End