Shao Yuan Dormitories, Building 9, Peking University, China; Tuesday evening
She was putting on eyeliner for her evening out when the shakes hit.
Daddy thinks I'm a murderer. And he's proud of me. She braced herself on the counter and tried to breathe, ulcer burning. He wants me to get Cleaner training. He trusts me. This is a good thing. Wasn't it? This was what she'd been working toward, right?
I didn't think he'd want me to be like this. The pencil landed in the basin as she bent forward, sobbing. Because she could suddenly see the next twenty years, and at the end of them she'd be just like that Miss Parker that Xander had met: loneliest person in the world, cold and calculating and trying to do the right thing, saving people when she could hide it, killing Centre personnel when she had to, gritting her teeth when she couldn't save or stop anyone, lying and double-dealing in order to what? Bring down the Centre? All by herself? She was going to be just like them by then. She was them.
She'd killed someone, a horrible man who'd deserved to die. Yes. So she'd have to keep doing that. Over, and over, and over, because if she'd done it once, there was no moral high ground left, no saying she was too good for that, no claiming she wasn't capable of it. And just pray she didn't kill the wrong person, or get caught, or God forbid start to like it.
Gulping for breath, Parker looked into the mirror and flinched. Her mom's face after that one terrible Thanksgiving looked back at her, wanting to be brave, make-up smeared, fear and grief and pain and trying to hide it so hard. I can't do this. She tried to imagine telling her father that.
The next thing she knew, she was shoving clothes into her overnight bag. T-shirts. Underwear. Jacket. She tore off the dress she'd been wearing, left it in the laundry. Jeans. Sneakers. Keep it simple. She still had jewels left over from getting Miho's payment. Enough to get by, for a while. Passport. Gun. Ulcer meds. Cigarettes. Tie the hair back. Text message to the actress she always employed to impersonate her: London, tonight, a month, payment on the usual account. Plane tickets to five different locations, including London. E-mailed her paper to her professor.
"Screw it." Was that her? Must've been.
E-mail to Jarod: You were right. I was wrong. I'm gone for now. Sorry.
E-mail to Angelo: Don't worry. Froot Loops * butterscotch * Sweet Tarts*
There would have been an e-mail to Sydney, but that wouldn't be a kindness.
E-mail to her friends, to Zero and Isabel and Bridge and Xander and Daisy and Ronan and one copy burnt for Alanna. And a copy for Logan even if Anders would tell him, since her father had his name, and he'd tell Angel too. No one else needed to know. They could ask one of the others where she was, if they wanted to know.
Gone walkabout. Don't look for me. If my father calls, you haven't heard from me. Back sometime. Parker.
And one last phone call: "Portalocity? I need one ticket, as soon as possible. One-way. Parker account." She paused. "Destination?" She looked around her room, and realized she hadn't quit crying in the last ten minutes. Enough.
"Anywhere but here."
She flipped her phone shut, slipped on her shades, and waited. Then stepped into the portal that formed in her room five minutes later, and vanished.
[ooc: And Miss Parker has left the dimension for a little break. IC and OOC comments welcome.
Much thanks again to deadly_little aka swerval_zero for RP, plotting and editing help for this very long story.]
Daddy thinks I'm a murderer. And he's proud of me. She braced herself on the counter and tried to breathe, ulcer burning. He wants me to get Cleaner training. He trusts me. This is a good thing. Wasn't it? This was what she'd been working toward, right?
I didn't think he'd want me to be like this. The pencil landed in the basin as she bent forward, sobbing. Because she could suddenly see the next twenty years, and at the end of them she'd be just like that Miss Parker that Xander had met: loneliest person in the world, cold and calculating and trying to do the right thing, saving people when she could hide it, killing Centre personnel when she had to, gritting her teeth when she couldn't save or stop anyone, lying and double-dealing in order to what? Bring down the Centre? All by herself? She was going to be just like them by then. She was them.
She'd killed someone, a horrible man who'd deserved to die. Yes. So she'd have to keep doing that. Over, and over, and over, because if she'd done it once, there was no moral high ground left, no saying she was too good for that, no claiming she wasn't capable of it. And just pray she didn't kill the wrong person, or get caught, or God forbid start to like it.
Gulping for breath, Parker looked into the mirror and flinched. Her mom's face after that one terrible Thanksgiving looked back at her, wanting to be brave, make-up smeared, fear and grief and pain and trying to hide it so hard. I can't do this. She tried to imagine telling her father that.
The next thing she knew, she was shoving clothes into her overnight bag. T-shirts. Underwear. Jacket. She tore off the dress she'd been wearing, left it in the laundry. Jeans. Sneakers. Keep it simple. She still had jewels left over from getting Miho's payment. Enough to get by, for a while. Passport. Gun. Ulcer meds. Cigarettes. Tie the hair back. Text message to the actress she always employed to impersonate her: London, tonight, a month, payment on the usual account. Plane tickets to five different locations, including London. E-mailed her paper to her professor.
"Screw it." Was that her? Must've been.
E-mail to Jarod: You were right. I was wrong. I'm gone for now. Sorry.
E-mail to Angelo: Don't worry. Froot Loops * butterscotch * Sweet Tarts*
There would have been an e-mail to Sydney, but that wouldn't be a kindness.
E-mail to her friends, to Zero and Isabel and Bridge and Xander and Daisy and Ronan and one copy burnt for Alanna. And a copy for Logan even if Anders would tell him, since her father had his name, and he'd tell Angel too. No one else needed to know. They could ask one of the others where she was, if they wanted to know.
Gone walkabout. Don't look for me. If my father calls, you haven't heard from me. Back sometime. Parker.
And one last phone call: "Portalocity? I need one ticket, as soon as possible. One-way. Parker account." She paused. "Destination?" She looked around her room, and realized she hadn't quit crying in the last ten minutes. Enough.
"Anywhere but here."
She flipped her phone shut, slipped on her shades, and waited. Then stepped into the portal that formed in her room five minutes later, and vanished.
[ooc: And Miss Parker has left the dimension for a little break. IC and OOC comments welcome.
Much thanks again to deadly_little aka swerval_zero for RP, plotting and editing help for this very long story.]