Disclaimer: These characters aren't mine. Well, some of them are. But the
important ones are all property of MTM and NBC Productions and used without
permission. I'm not making any money out of this . . . . Blah, blah, blah. You
know the drill.
Final Countdown
By Nicky
Chapter 3
"Broots? Can you hear me? Are you alright?" I
gently poke him in the chest, but he doesn't respond. Why isn't he waking up?
This is bad. Very, very
bad. The last thing Jarod said before
he left was for me not to kill anyone.
And I can't even manage that task for an hour. But this isn't my fault, so don't blame me. I really wasn't in the best of moods to
begin with. I was tired and
aching. My back was killing me from
wearing that stupid bulletproof vest.
Plus, I was getting pretty
hungry. Jarod knows what I'm
like when I'm hungry. My hormones mixed
with hunger make a dangerous combination.
I get downright homicidal almost.
But I never thought something like this would happen. Wait.
What am I worried for? Nothing's
wrong with Broots. He's fine. Just fine.
But, I wonder if pregnant women get can plea not guilty by reason of
temporary hormone induced insanity?
I check on Broots
again and panic grips me. Is he
breathing? I don't think so. I watch his chest for a few seconds, but I
don't see a rise and fall. What do I
do? Think, Parker. CPR.
It wasn't that long ago. I had a
refresher course last year when I adopted Imani. Pretty soon, instinct takes over and I start rescue
breathing. Two breaths was all it
took. His eyes shoot open and he looks
around wildly, gasping desperately for air.
A huge smile of relief spreads across my face.
"Welcome
back," I say. His head is laying
in my lap and I gently stroke the sides of his face, watching him slowly come back
to consciousness. He blinks a couple of
times before I'm sure he recognizes me.
He sits up and looks around again.
And although he seems to know who I am, he seems confused about where he
is. Or how he got there. Okay, now he’s really starting to scare
me. He just sitting there. Staring at me with this really goofy
expression. Not that he usually doesn't
look pretty goofy. But this is just
weird.
"Are you
sure you're alright, Broots?" I ask him.
"You took a nasty fall and hit your head pretty hard."
"I hit my
head?" He looks kind of confused,
like he doesn't remember it happening.
"Yeah. You had me pretty scared. You were unconscious and even stopped
breathing for a little while."
He thinks over
this last bit of information before I see him blush. He was touching his lips and still had that goofy grin. What's wrong with him? But then it hits me. Broots has always had a little bit of a
crush on me. What if he thought . . .
he couldn't have thought that. Could
he? He thought I was kissing him? I almost laugh out loud, but I'm able to
hold it in. Surprisingly, I'm not in
much of a mood to shatter his poor little ego today.
"Do you
remember anything that happened?" I ask instead.
"Most of
it," he says slowly, still holding his head.
It has to hurt
after the way he fell. And I guess I
feel a little guilty, since he was only trying to help me. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I didn't want Broots involved in
anyway. The little guy's been so loyal
over the years. I didn't want him hurt
in anyway by any of this. It wouldn't
have been fair to him. And it wouldn't
have been fair to Debbie. Granted, it
was a crazed pregnant woman and not anything Centre related that almost lead to
his untimely demise. So I'm feeling
doubly guilty right now.
"Well, let
me see if I can fill in some of the blanks for you," I say with a timid
smile. I got him into this mess. The least I could do was tell him what this
mess was all about.
8 hours earlier
This is just
perfect. Crawling through the bowels of
the Centre. Just the way I like to
start my day. And this stupid vest
Jarod's making me wear isn't exactly making things easier for me. I understand he's just trying to protect me
and the baby. But is this really
necessary?
"Jarod, wait
a minute," I pant. I lean wearily
against a wall, trying to catch my breath.
The extra weight of the vest combined with the extra weight from the
baby was really starting to take its toll on me.
"Why don't
we take a break," he suggests. He
looks at his watch and then looks around to see where we are.
"Do we have
the time?" I ask him. We don't
have much time to get to where we're going.
But I'm so tired. I don't think
I can move another step.
"Don't worry
about that," he says, taking my hand and helping me sit on the
ground. "You need to take it easy
right now. You just got out of the
hospital. I just wish that . . ."
"I'll be
fine," I insist. "This has to
be done now, Jarod." It's sad, but
it's true. My father has sent at least
two people to kill me this past week. I
might not be so lucky the next time he tried anything. Sure he thinks I'm dead now. But it'll only be a matter of time before he
figures out I wasn't in that car that crashed.
Things have to be settled now.
"I
know," he says quietly. "I
just wish you didn't have to go through this at all."
"You're so
sweet," I smile. He really
was. He loved me with his whole
heart. I know it's killing him that he
can't do this himself. I know that he
wants to make everything better for me.
But he can't. This is something
that both of us are going to have to handle.
I stroke his cheek reassuringly and smile once more before gently
kissing him. But then he starts
laughing. "What's so
funny?" Good job, Mr. Mood
Killer. What's he laughing like that
for?
"This,"
he says, still laughing. "Do you
know how many times I wanted to do this when we were growing up? Take you into some dark, deserted corner
where no one could see us. And then
hold you and kiss you and touch you all over." He smiles suggestively before capturing my mouth with his own
hungry lips. Hungry. Mmmm.
"Jarod,"
I murmur through his passionate kisses.
Now I'm about to be the mood killer.
"Do you have anything to eat?"
Well, I'm
sorry. What else was I going to
do? Any thoughts of hunger, food, or
eating and I'm instantly consumed with a passion that only a plate of hot wings
can satiate. Don't blame me. Blame the baby.
"I don't
have any hot wings, if that's what you want," he laughs. "But I did bring a couple of
sandwiches." He reluctantly pulls
his arms from around me to find his bag.
"Ham, turkey, or peanut butter and jelly?"
After much
thought, I end up taking all three and mashing them together. Poor Jarod looks like he's about to be
sick. Once again. Not my fault. Don't blame me. Blame the
baby. He (or she) loves all this mixed
up food.
After the little
snack, I'm feeling amazingly refreshed.
It was time to get moving again.
Luckily, we were almost there.
Because I don't know if I could have taken another two hour trip through
the air vents.
Lyle was right
where he was supposed to be. I don't
know how he pulled it off. Because by
now, I'm sure Broots and Sydney suspect he's done something to me. It doesn't take long for news to get around
the Centre. But, the three of them are
there. Just like Lyle promised. Of course, poor Broots and Syd looked as if
they were seeing a ghost when I stepped out of that air vent. I really didn't want them have to go through
all of that. But we didn't have time to
clue them into our plans.
"Parker?"
Sydney gasps. "We thought . . .
they said . . . you were gone," he stutters.
"You better
watch out, Syd. You're starting to
sound like Broots there," I try to joke.
They were so tense. I want to
take the edge off of things. Besides, I
figured they'd be jumping for joy over not having to deal with me anymore. But, they still look so serious.
"I'm fine,
you guys," I smile reassuringly.
"News of my death had been greatly exaggerated."
We don't have
much time to chat, though. Lyle tells
us that Broots was only able to manipulate the cameras for a few hours. That means we have to work quickly before
the cameras come back on and records my return from the dead for posterity's
sake.
We didn't have
much time. And we had even less to go
on. Just the medallions and my mother's
promise that together they'd make a key to unlock the mystery.
"Maybe the
key fits something here," Jarod suggests.
"A safe. A door. Some hidden office . . ."
"Wait. What did you say?" Sydney asks. "I don't know why I didn't think of
this before. Parker, your mother had an
office. In the beginning when your
parents first came here, it was the office she worked from. But soon, she started to see so much
horrible stuff going on down there. So
she had it locked up and pretty soon it was forgotten. Whenever we needed to discuss things
privately, that's where we'd go. It's like
a little corner of the Centre that no one knows about."
"This sounds
like a good place to start," I say.
"It just may be what we're looking for. Where's this office, Syd?"
"Things down
there have changed so much. I'm sure
I'd be able to point it out on the blueprints.
All I know is that it's near some stairs towards the north side of the
building. Down in one of the
sublevels," Sydney says.
We all look to
Broots to get the blueprints from the computer, but for some reason he's spaced
out. Jarod looks instead. And finds them in a couple of minutes. Sublevel 12. That's where we're off to.
"Then let's
go. Sydney and Broots, come with
me," Lyle says. "Sis, you and
Jarod will have to go back through the tunnels.
"Not the
tunnels," I whine and stick out my lower lip. Maybe someone will have sympathy on me.
"Come on,
Honey. You can't exactly waltz down the
halls of the Centre. Everyone around
here thinks that you're dead. And as
long as you're dead to them, you'll be safe," Jarod explains.
I really hate it
when he's right. I mean, he's generally
right - 95 percent of the time, anyway (although I'd never admit that). But I really hate it when he's right and
there's not even anyway for me to argue.
I realize that I can't go wandering down the halls. That I have to stay out of sight. But it doesn't make me like the idea of the
tunnels anymore than I do now.