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bantha_fodderThe Distance That Keeps, by Pen
The Pretender.
For![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
mandysbitch, who specifically wanted to see Jarod, the psycho. On the occasion of her birth many years ago.
with thanks to piecesof.
***
Her phone rings. "What?"
"Why do we do this?" Jarod asks, his words slightly slurred.
"Call at three in the morning? That's just you torturing me, Jarod."
He sighs, and the sound of wind and car horns is loud in her ear. "Yeah, I know."
The dial tone sounds. She shuts her eyes, opens them again.
She gets up.
**
She drives into work in the pre-dawn darkness, watches trucks trace the winding path up the hill and wonders what they carry; wonders that she has lived her life in this old building and still doesn't know all of its secrets.
In her office, she flips through files and listens to old interviews. She thinks about his call, about the tone of his voice in her ear and the meaning in his silences; she traces his path and looks for patterns.
He's getting sloppy, she knows he is.
**
In Dover he pushes her against a wall, buries his mouth against her neck as she slides her fingers across the smooth skin of his hip. She leaves the imprint of her nails at the small of his back, and he leaves bite marks on her shoulder.
"Sorry," he says, later; brushes his fingers over the skin.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't go soft, labrat," she says, and when he looks down she walks away.
**
"Debbie got a job at that diner," Broots says.
"Debbie shouldn't have a job at any diner," Parker says. She meets his eyes.
"That's what I said," Broots says. He sits down in the chair by her desk, and when she glares at him he's so agitated that he doesn't even flinch, so she leaves him be. "She should get a summer internship or something, not wait on truckers."
"Maybe she wants to be close to her dad," she says blandly. Looks back down at the files in her hand.
"Yeah, but this close? Miss Parker," Broots drops his voice and leans in. "She's working at the diner down the road from the Centre."
Miss Parker presses her lips together. She'll keep an eye out.
**
"Hey Sis," Lyle says, and she freezes.
"What?" she snaps, hopes her face is calm.
"There's been a Jarod sighting." She meets his eyes, doesn't know if he's trying to gloat or berate or call her the Queen of Egypt.
"Are you coming?" he asks after a moment.
"Of course," she says, like maybe she was waiting for him to invite her, when the reality is that she had no idea what he was telling her.
In the car, he looks out the window.
"Are you okay?" he asks her, like maybe he cares. Doesn't turn around, like maybe he doesn't.
She thinks of Mei Lin, of all the girls he cared enough about to shed their blood, and frowns.
"Of course," she says. Looks out the window.
**
"I want to try that program again," Broots says.
"Jarod knows about it, he'll have killed those patterns by now."
"I can do it," Broots insists, and she looks at him.
"Okay," she says. "But think of it as a side project. You're still coming with me to L.A."
Behind her, Sydney laughs. "I don't think he'll view that as a punishment, Parker," Sydney says, and Parker brushes past him; rolls her eyes.
**
She follows Jarod's breadcrumbs to Boston; finds a red notebook and a crime scene, and a shopping centre surrounded by yellow tape and cops. "What's going on?" she asks.
"Press?" the uniform asks, standard question.
"Blue Cove Gazette," her brother lies, and she almost doesn't flinch at his voice by her back.
"One of the butchers here was locked in his freezer, wasn't able to pull the disengage from inside. He's got frostbite pretty bad, they might have to take his leg."
The uniform steps away, and Parker flips open the red notebook. Local Butcher Dies in Freezer, she reads, headline from four weeks previous. She fumbles for a cigarette, keeps turning the pages.
"Looks like Jarod's not being as careful as usual," Lyle comments, and fuck she hates her brother but just this once she worries that he might be right.
She pushes the thought aside, gets back in the car.
**
"I thought you'd quit," Jarod rumbles in her ear.
"You were wrong," she says, quiet.
"You shouldn't -" he starts, and she hangs up.
**
She pours herself a gin, rests her head against the cool glass. She catalogues her options, disregards them out of hand. Television is for losers and she doesn't have the patience for reading.
She thinks about going dancing, until she remembers she hates talking to strangers.
She drinks her gin, tries to remember what she did after work when she was in Europe.
**
They follow him to Austin; a dentist died, leaving behind a little girl and a pregnant wife. "Doesn't it just tug at your heart strings?" Lyle asks, watching the pregnant widow waddle across the road.
"Regular symphony," Parker says, and sneers right up until they find the dental surgery, find the cops and another crime scene.
"And he just started operating on Bob!" some faceless lab tech says, waving his hands. "No anesthetic, no alcohol, nothing! Just a how do you think Sam Martin felt when you did this to him? and a drill in the jaw! Bob wasn't even here when Sam had his accident!"
"Think Jarod was wrong?" Lyle asks her. Parker meets his eyes.
"Of course he wasn't," she says. Jarod's always right, at least in this, and she pushes down the doubts.
**
"Sydney," she says, and it's the closest she ever comes to voicing her fears.
"I know," Sydney replies, rests a hand on her shoulder. "We need to bring him home, Parker."
She doesn't protest.
**
"I think it's almost working this time," Broots says. "Jarod just needs to turn up, then I think I can follow him."
"That's great, Broots. So I can trust you to wait and watch until he turns up."
"But Miss Parker," Broots looks up. "I need to pick Debbie up from work."
Miss Parker frowns. She feels the urgency in tracking Jarod down, in keeping him close. "This is important," she says. "I'll pick Debbie up."
Broots nods his head. "Okay," he says, and Miss Parker wonders again at how he trusts her with his daughter.
It's cold outside, and she pulls her coat tighter as she strides from her car to the diner.
She freezes, her hand on the door. Above her head, the bell keeps jangling as Lyle leans across the counter, and Debbie laughs. Parker steps up behind her brother, wraps her hand around his ear. "Don't even think about it," she whispers, and Debbie steps back.
"Miss Parker," she starts.
"Your dad can't pick you up. You're staying with me tonight. Go get your bag. I'll wait out here."
"Parker," Lyle says, and she tugs on his ear.
"I mean it," she says, her voice low, the anger rumbling low in her belly.
"Babysitting is good for you, Sis, keeps you on your toes." He grins, shakes off her grip and leans closer. "But you don't have to worry. She's not really my type." His breath is warm on her ear, and she suddenly doubts her convictions. He runs his fingers through his hair as he slides off the stool, and waves to Debbie as he leaves.
"Miss Parker, who is he?"
"Nobody you should know," Miss Parker says. "He's just my brother."
She probably means it, too, and when they get home Parker pulls out her sweats, and says, "Your dad wants me to teach you some things."
Better to be safe.
**
Her phone buzzes, and she reaches for it before the ring can wake Debbie. "What?" she whispers.
"What did he want?" Jarod asks.
She presses her lips together. Of course Jarod knows. "Nothing," she says. "He didn't want anything."
Of course he knows.
**
The silence is deafening, and she wonders.
**
They take the jet to New York, following the predictions of Broots' program.
"Don't mess it up this time, Parker," Lyle says, like every miss has been her fault, like maybe he's perfect, and she grins.
"I could say the same to you," she says, and he meets her eyes.
"Yes," he replies, "I suppose you could."
On the ground they find nothing but a red notebook and a trail, at least an hour old.
Lyle flips the notebook open. too slow. getting old, lyle, he reads aloud, and Miss Parker laughs.
"Shut up," Lyle snaps, "you're older than I am."
**
Lyle pushes into her office. "Have you seen this?" he asks, waving a box at her. "I think your boy is threatening me."
"He's not my boy," she says, doesn't move.
He tips the box upside down, covers her desk with fake thumbs.
She laughs; laughs long and loud until the doors swing shut behind her brother, and just as abruptly she stops.
She picks up her phone; calls for Sydney.
**
In a shitty little coastal town in Maine they find him, eyes shut and feet tapping a rhythm on a jagged cliff face.
"Come on, Jarod," Parker says, gun firm in her hand. "It's time to go home."
Jarod climbs to his feet, and Lyle brings his gun up. "Careful there, Jarod. No sudden moves."
Jarod smiles. "Plenty of warning, then," he says, and freezes where he is, hands by his side and thirty foot drop behind him.
Parker waves with her gun. "Let's go." Jarod shrugs, slides his hands in his pockets.
"I'm just admiring the view," he says, and turns around. Parker follows his gaze, watches the sun move down past the horizon.
"Very pretty," Lyle says.
"But not your thing?" Jarod asks. "Not young enough or defenseless enough?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lyle says, and, impatient, he steps forward. Jarod turns, draws his hands out of his pockets and tugs on Lyle's outstretched arm.
Jarod pauses, his hand in the air and a sneer on his face. Lyle wobbles on the ledge, flaps his arms a little and smiles before he tilts backwards. Parker steps forward, sees her brother's body sprawled across the rocks thirty feet below, the waves splashing ten feet below that.
She holds her breath; waits for Lyle to get up like the ghoul he is. "Parker," Jarod says, his voice strained, but she does not look at him.
"Fuck," she says. "I think you killed him."
"He deserved it," Jarod replies, and she looks away from her brother, looks across at Jarod.
"Maybe," she says, "But you were not his judge." She starts to pick her way through the rocks, starts the descent to her brother's body below. "I was," she mutters into the rock, and the pain in her heart is loss.
She will never get to redeem her stupid fucking brother, and she hates that.
She hates him.
She doesn't look back.
END
The Pretender.
For
mandysbitch, who specifically wanted to see Jarod, the psycho. On the occasion of her birth many years ago.with thanks to piecesof.
***
Her phone rings. "What?"
"Why do we do this?" Jarod asks, his words slightly slurred.
"Call at three in the morning? That's just you torturing me, Jarod."
He sighs, and the sound of wind and car horns is loud in her ear. "Yeah, I know."
The dial tone sounds. She shuts her eyes, opens them again.
She gets up.
**
She drives into work in the pre-dawn darkness, watches trucks trace the winding path up the hill and wonders what they carry; wonders that she has lived her life in this old building and still doesn't know all of its secrets.
In her office, she flips through files and listens to old interviews. She thinks about his call, about the tone of his voice in her ear and the meaning in his silences; she traces his path and looks for patterns.
He's getting sloppy, she knows he is.
**
In Dover he pushes her against a wall, buries his mouth against her neck as she slides her fingers across the smooth skin of his hip. She leaves the imprint of her nails at the small of his back, and he leaves bite marks on her shoulder.
"Sorry," he says, later; brushes his fingers over the skin.
She rolls her eyes. "Don't go soft, labrat," she says, and when he looks down she walks away.
**
"Debbie got a job at that diner," Broots says.
"Debbie shouldn't have a job at any diner," Parker says. She meets his eyes.
"That's what I said," Broots says. He sits down in the chair by her desk, and when she glares at him he's so agitated that he doesn't even flinch, so she leaves him be. "She should get a summer internship or something, not wait on truckers."
"Maybe she wants to be close to her dad," she says blandly. Looks back down at the files in her hand.
"Yeah, but this close? Miss Parker," Broots drops his voice and leans in. "She's working at the diner down the road from the Centre."
Miss Parker presses her lips together. She'll keep an eye out.
**
"Hey Sis," Lyle says, and she freezes.
"What?" she snaps, hopes her face is calm.
"There's been a Jarod sighting." She meets his eyes, doesn't know if he's trying to gloat or berate or call her the Queen of Egypt.
"Are you coming?" he asks after a moment.
"Of course," she says, like maybe she was waiting for him to invite her, when the reality is that she had no idea what he was telling her.
In the car, he looks out the window.
"Are you okay?" he asks her, like maybe he cares. Doesn't turn around, like maybe he doesn't.
She thinks of Mei Lin, of all the girls he cared enough about to shed their blood, and frowns.
"Of course," she says. Looks out the window.
**
"I want to try that program again," Broots says.
"Jarod knows about it, he'll have killed those patterns by now."
"I can do it," Broots insists, and she looks at him.
"Okay," she says. "But think of it as a side project. You're still coming with me to L.A."
Behind her, Sydney laughs. "I don't think he'll view that as a punishment, Parker," Sydney says, and Parker brushes past him; rolls her eyes.
**
She follows Jarod's breadcrumbs to Boston; finds a red notebook and a crime scene, and a shopping centre surrounded by yellow tape and cops. "What's going on?" she asks.
"Press?" the uniform asks, standard question.
"Blue Cove Gazette," her brother lies, and she almost doesn't flinch at his voice by her back.
"One of the butchers here was locked in his freezer, wasn't able to pull the disengage from inside. He's got frostbite pretty bad, they might have to take his leg."
The uniform steps away, and Parker flips open the red notebook. Local Butcher Dies in Freezer, she reads, headline from four weeks previous. She fumbles for a cigarette, keeps turning the pages.
"Looks like Jarod's not being as careful as usual," Lyle comments, and fuck she hates her brother but just this once she worries that he might be right.
She pushes the thought aside, gets back in the car.
**
"I thought you'd quit," Jarod rumbles in her ear.
"You were wrong," she says, quiet.
"You shouldn't -" he starts, and she hangs up.
**
She pours herself a gin, rests her head against the cool glass. She catalogues her options, disregards them out of hand. Television is for losers and she doesn't have the patience for reading.
She thinks about going dancing, until she remembers she hates talking to strangers.
She drinks her gin, tries to remember what she did after work when she was in Europe.
**
They follow him to Austin; a dentist died, leaving behind a little girl and a pregnant wife. "Doesn't it just tug at your heart strings?" Lyle asks, watching the pregnant widow waddle across the road.
"Regular symphony," Parker says, and sneers right up until they find the dental surgery, find the cops and another crime scene.
"And he just started operating on Bob!" some faceless lab tech says, waving his hands. "No anesthetic, no alcohol, nothing! Just a how do you think Sam Martin felt when you did this to him? and a drill in the jaw! Bob wasn't even here when Sam had his accident!"
"Think Jarod was wrong?" Lyle asks her. Parker meets his eyes.
"Of course he wasn't," she says. Jarod's always right, at least in this, and she pushes down the doubts.
**
"Sydney," she says, and it's the closest she ever comes to voicing her fears.
"I know," Sydney replies, rests a hand on her shoulder. "We need to bring him home, Parker."
She doesn't protest.
**
"I think it's almost working this time," Broots says. "Jarod just needs to turn up, then I think I can follow him."
"That's great, Broots. So I can trust you to wait and watch until he turns up."
"But Miss Parker," Broots looks up. "I need to pick Debbie up from work."
Miss Parker frowns. She feels the urgency in tracking Jarod down, in keeping him close. "This is important," she says. "I'll pick Debbie up."
Broots nods his head. "Okay," he says, and Miss Parker wonders again at how he trusts her with his daughter.
It's cold outside, and she pulls her coat tighter as she strides from her car to the diner.
She freezes, her hand on the door. Above her head, the bell keeps jangling as Lyle leans across the counter, and Debbie laughs. Parker steps up behind her brother, wraps her hand around his ear. "Don't even think about it," she whispers, and Debbie steps back.
"Miss Parker," she starts.
"Your dad can't pick you up. You're staying with me tonight. Go get your bag. I'll wait out here."
"Parker," Lyle says, and she tugs on his ear.
"I mean it," she says, her voice low, the anger rumbling low in her belly.
"Babysitting is good for you, Sis, keeps you on your toes." He grins, shakes off her grip and leans closer. "But you don't have to worry. She's not really my type." His breath is warm on her ear, and she suddenly doubts her convictions. He runs his fingers through his hair as he slides off the stool, and waves to Debbie as he leaves.
"Miss Parker, who is he?"
"Nobody you should know," Miss Parker says. "He's just my brother."
She probably means it, too, and when they get home Parker pulls out her sweats, and says, "Your dad wants me to teach you some things."
Better to be safe.
**
Her phone buzzes, and she reaches for it before the ring can wake Debbie. "What?" she whispers.
"What did he want?" Jarod asks.
She presses her lips together. Of course Jarod knows. "Nothing," she says. "He didn't want anything."
Of course he knows.
**
The silence is deafening, and she wonders.
**
They take the jet to New York, following the predictions of Broots' program.
"Don't mess it up this time, Parker," Lyle says, like every miss has been her fault, like maybe he's perfect, and she grins.
"I could say the same to you," she says, and he meets her eyes.
"Yes," he replies, "I suppose you could."
On the ground they find nothing but a red notebook and a trail, at least an hour old.
Lyle flips the notebook open. too slow. getting old, lyle, he reads aloud, and Miss Parker laughs.
"Shut up," Lyle snaps, "you're older than I am."
**
Lyle pushes into her office. "Have you seen this?" he asks, waving a box at her. "I think your boy is threatening me."
"He's not my boy," she says, doesn't move.
He tips the box upside down, covers her desk with fake thumbs.
She laughs; laughs long and loud until the doors swing shut behind her brother, and just as abruptly she stops.
She picks up her phone; calls for Sydney.
**
In a shitty little coastal town in Maine they find him, eyes shut and feet tapping a rhythm on a jagged cliff face.
"Come on, Jarod," Parker says, gun firm in her hand. "It's time to go home."
Jarod climbs to his feet, and Lyle brings his gun up. "Careful there, Jarod. No sudden moves."
Jarod smiles. "Plenty of warning, then," he says, and freezes where he is, hands by his side and thirty foot drop behind him.
Parker waves with her gun. "Let's go." Jarod shrugs, slides his hands in his pockets.
"I'm just admiring the view," he says, and turns around. Parker follows his gaze, watches the sun move down past the horizon.
"Very pretty," Lyle says.
"But not your thing?" Jarod asks. "Not young enough or defenseless enough?"
"I don't know what you're talking about," Lyle says, and, impatient, he steps forward. Jarod turns, draws his hands out of his pockets and tugs on Lyle's outstretched arm.
Jarod pauses, his hand in the air and a sneer on his face. Lyle wobbles on the ledge, flaps his arms a little and smiles before he tilts backwards. Parker steps forward, sees her brother's body sprawled across the rocks thirty feet below, the waves splashing ten feet below that.
She holds her breath; waits for Lyle to get up like the ghoul he is. "Parker," Jarod says, his voice strained, but she does not look at him.
"Fuck," she says. "I think you killed him."
"He deserved it," Jarod replies, and she looks away from her brother, looks across at Jarod.
"Maybe," she says, "But you were not his judge." She starts to pick her way through the rocks, starts the descent to her brother's body below. "I was," she mutters into the rock, and the pain in her heart is loss.
She will never get to redeem her stupid fucking brother, and she hates that.
She hates him.
She doesn't look back.
END
