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o The Bookshelf Directories offer a very wide variety of stories. o
o They have been submitted by people from all over the world. Also o
o from alt.sex.stories (Newsgroups). There is no particular order o
o other than offering them to you in alphabetical directories. o
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o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o o
Lonely Corridor - 1 (MF, Tv-parody)
by Demara (dforest@weir.net)
(c) 1997
DISCLAIMER: The characters
and events in this story are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons,
living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. "The
Pretender" is a protected trademark of MTM Television and NBC, and
the characters of that series are used here with no mean intent or desire
for remuneration. It is a fan tribute to excellent television, for which
the author is grateful.
Introduction
He knew he was walking away from something very special; but, how could
he risk her life by staying. "I hope she understands." He thought
to himself.
His musings were disturbed by the sound of a car's tire crunching below.
He watched from the shadow of a tree as a black Chrysler LHS came around
the bend. "Why are they back?" he thought; then he noticed that
there was only one occupant - female, black hair. "She is not a very
experienced driver," he thought. He had ample time to look over the
front and back seats as she continued up the drive. "No guns, a lap-top
computer, a steel case..." his thoughts drifted off as he attempted
to become her to understand why she was here. Surprisingly, he could not
tell a single thing about her.
He looked down at the case in his hand - the DSA reader he carried was
familiar to him and as far as he knew it would be familiar only to others
from The Centre. He had not encountered anything like it here on the out
side. What was this person doing with a DSA reader? No, it was probably
just a briefcase. With that last thought he continued deeper into the woods,
just to 'find himself'.
Nia stepped out onto the porch, as she heard the crunching of gravel.
She watched as the sleek car came to a stop. The license plates were from
out-of-state and it looked to be brand-new. When the woman got out of the
car she was immediately struck by several things. Her eyes were covered
by mirrored, dark glasses while her hair was long, jet black with streaks
of gray and combed back to be held in place with a plain, silver clip at
the nape of her neck. Her clothing was obviously as new as the car and
the pants, suit jacket, vest, and silk shirt in somber black were cov ered
with an equally new black trenchcoat. The third thing Nia noticed was that
this woman does not look comfortable - with the woods or with approaching
her.
"What can I do for you?" Nia asked.
"If it would be convenient, may I ask you some questions?"
Her voice was smooth with a light accent that she couldn't place, melodic
like the voice of a born singer.
"I have a little bit of time. Come on up."
The strange woman walked to the porch, climbed the steps, and took a
seat opposite Nia. "First, have you seen this man?" She reached
out across the space between them to hand Nia a picture of Jarod.
Nia took the picture and looked at it. "Tall, dark and handsome,
with a small mole next to his right eye. I told the other people. You guys
need to learn to communicate." The woman looked confused. "There
were three people here this morning, a woman and two men. He's not here.
I do not know if he will be back."
She started to hand the picture back but the woman held up her hand,
"Keep it. You have no other pictures of him." She slowly stood
up. "Thank you for your time. I am sorry to have bothered you."
How did she know that?
"Wait! Who are you?" Nia said as the car door was opened.
The woman looked up at her as if to question what her answer should
be. "I do not know. I know more about Jarod than I do about myself."
She started to get into the car then stopped. "If you see him again,
tell him to get in touch with me here is my card." She handed the
card to Nia and quickly got into the car.
Krystal Forest P.O.Box 164223 New York, New York 10022 kforest@ksc.nasa.gov
9005804.1541@CompuServe.com
The information was printed in raised, gold letters on a black background.
Very stark just like the woman who had handed it to her. She looked up
as the car started and was shifted into gear. She watched the road a long
time after the car and its strange occupant disappeared.
"How does he do that, Sydney?" Growled Miss Parker. "He
knows just when we are coming. I am tired of this." They were in a
small office at the ranger station waiting for someone to describe this
latest escaped of Jarod's.
"I don't know Miss Parker." Sydney said as he grinned at Broots.
"Oh, you just think this is just so funny, don't you? Well, I can't
wait to catch your little monster and put him back where he bel.."
She stopped as the door was opened by one of the rangers. Her blazing eyes
said this discussion was not finished by a long-shot.
"I'm Ranger Korby. What can I help you with?" He extended
his hand and shook hands with each of The Centre's team.
"You can start by telling us everything you can about this man."
Miss Parker held out a photo of Jarod.
"Jarod Forest, former Army Ranger. He helped us in a search for
a missing student. I didn't talk to him much. If you want to find out
something about this guy you should see Nia the local outfitter. He
stayed at her place while he was here."
"We were already there."
"Can you tell us anything else about him? How did he look?"
Sydney asked.
"He looked like a normal person." Korby said with a shrug.
"I don't know anything else about him. What is he wanted for?"
"Thank you for your time." Miss Parker said as she turned
to leave the office.
A yellow envelope is under the wiper-blade of their vehicle. Miss Parker
jerks it away from the car and quickly opens it. "To find yourself
some times you must lose yourself along the way. Jarod. P.S.: Have you
found yourself yet?" She shows the note to Sydney and Broots. "I
want him. I will get him!"
"What do you think it means, Miss Parker?" Sydney asked.
"Miss Parker?" Broots asks. "Why don't we stake out the
lady's house? He probably knows we were there. Maybe he will come back
to say goodbye?"
"They still haven't given you a gun - have they?" Broots shakes
his head, no. "Have someone watch her place. He won't be back."
Sydney looks at her closely. "How do you know that, Miss Parker?"
"Because, he didn't..." She stops herself and looks around
not seeing the station or the beautiful scenery. She is looking at a picture
from her past. "Just because, Syd. I know." She stares at him
almost daring him to doubt her. "Let's go see that lady again."
Nia was in the back of her cabin when Miss Parker started pounding on
her door. "One minute, I'll be right there." She went to the
front door and opened it. "What do you want?"
"We need to speak to you again." Miss Parker walked right
through the open door not waiting for an invitation. Her eyes were immediately
drawn to a small black business card sitting on the stand. She walked over
and picked it up. "What's this?"
Nia paused as she thought of something to say. She knew instinctively
that these people should not know about the mysterious woman. "My
publisher in New York. I write books in my spare time." She covered
the pause with a disinterested shrug. "Now why are you interested
in Jarod."
Miss Parker pursed her lips, "Can I keep this?" She held the
card up to show it to Nia.
"No." Nia plucked the card from Miss Parker's finger-tips.
"Krystal is my publisher, get your own. And, get out of my house.
I have been tolerant up to this point; but, now I am tired of being harassed.
If Jarod is such a terrible person go to the authorities, I'm sure they
can find him. "
"Let's go." Sydney said as he gently caught her raised elbow
to guide her out of the cabin. "Thank you for your time."
Sydney guided Miss Parker to the passenger side as he nodded to Broots
to drive. He got into the backseat. "What has gotten into you Miss
Parker? Were you going to hit her?" He asked as they made their way
down the mountain.
Miss Parker glared out the window as the scenery speed by. "I am
tired of coming up empty-handed, Syd. I was not going to hit her."
She lit a cigarette and slowly blew a cloud of smoke at the window.
"I thought you were going to quit?"
She flipped down her visor and glared at Sydney through the vanity mirror.
Slowly, she dragged smoke into her lungs and blew a cloud at his reflection,
"Why should I quit."
Sydney rolled down his window to let the smoke out. Broots turned a
strange shade of gray and tapped his window down. Miss Parker quickly killed
her cigarette as the airport came into view. Their black Lear jet was on
the runway ready for their departure.
As they started toward the plane, Miss Parker held back slightly. She
turned quickly at the bottom of the stairs and pointed a finger into Sydney's
chest. "We will get him won't we Syd."
A strange look was in her eyes a mix of hatred, rage, betrayal, and
something he was hard pressed to find a name for. "Patience, Miss
Parker. We have to have patience. We will find him." He almost felt
sorry for her.
"Aghh." Miss Parker struck him in the chest and quickly climbed
into the jet.
Chapter 1
The camera zoomed in on a young girl sitting with a straight back
in a tall-backed chair. She was tall, with black hair and crystal clear
ice-blue eyes. The man in the room with her was asking her to answer math
pro blems - square roots, long division, probabilities.
"What is the square root of 3.11254327?"
"The square root of 3.11254327 is 1.76424013955."
"What is the square root of 654773827?"
"The square root of 654,773,827 is 25,588.5487474."
"What is 5328871659 divided by 7851902?"
"The answer to 5,328,871,659 divided by 7,851,902 is 678.672716369."
"If a person chooses six different numbers of a possible 44,
how many pos sible combination can the person create?"
"Does the order matter?"
"No and yes. I want both possible answers."
"If the order does not matter the number of possible combinations
created by choosing six different numbers from a possible 44 is 7,059,052.
If the order does matter the number of possible combinations created by
choosing six different numbers from a possible 44 is 5,082,517,440."
The tall man walked to the sliding glass door and stepped through
as it was opened from the outside. "Well, what do you think?"
a harsh, raspy breathe questioned.
"She is phenomenal. Simply put she is the most extraordinary
individual I have ever seen. I have tested her in reading, writing, science,
history, and mathematics and she is able to answer everything. I would
like to have Sydney take a look at her as a possible pretender. She has
the mental ability for it."
"Sydney is busy with someone else. A male who shows great promise."
"Who else is there? We can not afford to lose this one."
"Give her to Markam. He once was the best trainer we had; maybe
with her he can be again."
"Markam. I thought he was going to be eliminated."
"He was. He probably still will be; but, maybe she will bring
him back around. She is not as emotional as some of his others. She certainly
will never be able to exist in the real world. She's just turned three
and she already has the mind of an adult. She has the control of an adult,
too. Give her to him - and - do not use her name. Do not call her anything."
"What can I call her then?"
"Girl. I will have her parents taken care of." A puff of
blue smoke drifts past the camera lens as a door opens and then closes
with an echoing click.
The man from the room whispered, "What if she fails?"
A shadow walks in front of the camera as the man walks again into
the room. The girl has not moved from her chair. The man shook his head
and waved to her to come over to him. "You are going to see another
man today. You will stay with him until you are ready to leave."
"Why am I here? And, where are my mother and father?"
"Come girl." He said with a pat on the head, as they exited
the room we gain our first clear look at the man's face.
A hand reaches for the controls on the DSA reader rewinding the picture
until the man's face is clearly displayed. The picture is paused. A quick
command is entered and the image is captured and saved to the neighbor
ing lap-top computer. The same hand turns the reader off and brings the
image up in a graphics program on the lap-top from which it is printed.
A silver, blue light plays over the electronics as a lean form stands
to get the print-out. As the person sits back down in front of the lap-top
we catch a glimpse of her reflection, the mystery woman with the long black
hair now tied severely in a bun. She shuffles several files at her right
pulling two from their resting place. Centre Employee File - Sydney
and Centre Employee File - Jacob were the titles. After turning
off the DSA reader, she turns her chair to face the desk behind her. She
lays out the files one above the other and the print-out to the right side.
As she leafs through Sydney's file we catch glimpses of copies of his degrees,
pictures of him with his brother, and finally pictures of his other clients.
One of the pictures was of a young, thin boy of about four or five. The
picture was dated February 4, 1963.
She pushes the file out of the way as she moves Jacob's file to the
front . Again, she leafs through the file. Glimpses of degrees and brotherly
pictures. His file, unlike his brother's, is devoid of clients. A page
does occupy the back section of the file, though. It was a list entitled
simply Potentials. The list started in June of 1945 with Frederick W..
Under the name was a brief summary listing date of birth, credentials,
and reasons for being a potential.
"A potential what?" she whispered quietly. The list ended
December of 1962 a full two months before she was interviewed. She then
picked up the print-out of Jacob and added it to his file. She had run
down every name on the list, every birth date, and every little fact that
it contained; not a single shred of information about Jarod. Every one
of these children had been returned to their parents. They had not met
their potential. The files were then thrown back to the stack from which
they came.
She turned her attention to the apartment surrounding her. A beautiful
home located in the heart of New York City. She had chosen it because its
ext ravagant cost was unlike her usual demeanor of cost effectiveness -
or at least that was one of the reasons. Its fine plastered walls were
painted a rich golden vanilla that accentuated the fine furniture with
which she had attired the rooms. The rich colours throughout were in defiance
of the colourless environment in which she had been raised. "Trump
Tower ," she whispered. "Who at The Centre would ever think to
look for me here, guards at every entrance and exit and security locks
everywhere."
It was the first time she had ever been completely on her own. "Markam
had said I could handle this." She thought. She slumped into a chair
and reached for one of the files she had laying around the room. Centre
Simulation - Jarod 135. As she read through it she became aware of
a fact. She really did know more about Jarod than she did about herself.
She laid the file down and started toward the master bedroom. Folders,
pictures, and printouts were strewn across the floor and the bed. She sat
down on the edge of the bed and picked up one file Centre Pretender
File - Jarod. She slowly leafed through it looking at the pictures
of his mother, father, and sisters. There were records of his test scores
and his projects and his schooling. He was four when he was brought to
The Centre . His birthday was February second and he was born in 1959.
That would make him thirty-eight now. She knew who he was and who he could
have been. Slowly she closed his file and reached into a box beside her,
she drew out several red notebooks, one for each of his cases.
"These are what will lead me to him." Her eyes drifted upward
to glance at the ceiling. The little red notebooks were forgotten as she
left the bedroom and drifted again into her study.
This was a room in which she felt comfortable. It was the one most like
her room at The Centre and a quick glance around the room showed that this
was a room designed to be used. It was lit using diffused, full-spectrum
lighting and heavy drapes secured the deep bay window. Along one wall were
three large workstations. The one located in the corner contained the backbone
of her computer network a beast with eight, nine gigabyte hard drives and
a series of twelve-speed CD-ROM drives. It was powered by an experimental
P6 chip - her own design. It clocked at more than 556 MHZ. Powerful enough
for a large research company, or... to search for information about a pretender.
The next unit was outfitted with a desktop computer that was tied into
the Internet via an ISDN data line. At this workstation, a pair of high
speed colour laser printers were housed. It was this system from which
she had located an E-Mail address for information concerning Jarod's mother.
The address turned out to be an agency for locating missing persons in
Florida. She had left a carefully worded message at the agency not really
expecting a reply.
The final unit was the one she most often used. A lap-top computer sat
open. One of her DSA readers sat next to the lap-top. A full colour scanner
was attached to the computer. Under the desk were boxes filled to various
capacities with files she had stolen from The Centre.
A full DSA center was housed along the other wall. She had taken a DSA
camera, filtering and mixing system, multi-DSA writing system, and one
of the full DSA readers. This system allowed her to monitor The Centre
through another ISDN line. With its multiple write drives, it made easy
work of recording the offices of those involved in finding Jarod - Miss
Parker, Sydney, and Broots. She had wired Markam's house before she had
left the area so she could monitor him as well. She glanced quickly at
each of the feeds - double-checking that she had not been detected.
A series of lateral files lined the back wall, the drawers contents
were clearly marked. The first file housed a portion of Jarod's records,
DSA copies that The Centre did not know about, DSA transcripts, notes she
had taken from Jarod's room at The Centre, and the beginnings of Jarod's
travels out here. Each case he investigated was being documented further
and information added as it was collected. The notebooks in the bedroom
would soon make their way into the files. The next two cabinets housed
Markam's complete records. Every simulation he ever over saw, every report
he had filed. Copies of everything were documented and filed away. The
final cabinet housed her own DSA copies, transcripts, and notes.
She looked around the room, finally, her eyes fell on the DSA reader
already open. She stepped over to the desk and sat down in front of the
reader. From the top shelf of the desk she removed her final DSA from The
Centre. She inserted the disk and turned on the reader. The picture flickered
into view showing a stark office and a tall, lean man slumped over a desk.
The girl, now fully grown - a woman, walks into the room from a side
door. She checks his pulse and pushes him into a sitting position . His
eyes slowly open and focus on her. "You have to get out of here. Once
I am dead no one will be here to protect you. As if I ever did really protect
you." His eyes closed again in an attempt to close out painful memories.
"I can not leave. I do not even have a name. I know nothing
about how to live in the outside world."
"One of Sydney's Pretenders is living out there. He seems to
be doing just fine. You have more intelligence and abilities than anyone
Sydney had." He reached for her face and looked into her eyes. "Please,
leave here. They are going to kill me soon anyway if I do not die. I have
broken far too many of their rules. They will kill you as well. Perhaps,
they will not kill you physically; but, they will mentally and emotionally."
His arms dropped to the arms of the chair as he began to slump forward.
"Just like they did me." He said as an after-thought.
"What would I do out there?"
"Anything you want too." He seemed to strengthen at her
response. "Here take this." He shoved a key into her hand. "Open
that closet over there."
She walked to the closet and unlocked it. The light turned on automatica
lly as she stepped into the space. There were stacks of boxes and files.
A DSA cabinet was placed at the farthest point. She turned to look at Markam
with a shocked look on her face. "What is this?"
"The truth. The truth about The Centre, its operatives, its
pretenders and other creations, and simulations. I warn you - it is not
a pretty picture. I have worked at copying every file, DSA and computer
file in The Centre over the last two months. I think I got them all."
She paused the DSA and looked at the walk-in closet in the corner. It
know housed the truths about The Centre. Its contents protected by a steel
firewall and a heavy lock. A sigh escaped as she continued the DSA.
"How am I to remove all of this?"
"Come here." He held out his hand and showed her a set
of keys. There were keys similar to the one she had used to open the door;
but, several were for cars or trucks. "These two," he said holding
two together, "are for a black Dodge Ram truck out back. I just bought
it a couple of days ago. You know how to reroute their security cameras
to ignore' you. Do it! Get these packages out to the truck and get as far
away from here as possible." He shook his hand her way.
The woman took the keys. "I don't even know how to drive."
She laughed softly.
"Yes, you do. Now go." He said with a smile.
Her form came and went from the picture as she quickly rerouted the
security system and left the room. Markam got up from the desk and left
the room as well. She was stacking boxes on a flat-bed cart when Markam
returned. He had a collection of files under his arm that he set on the
cart. "Sydney's Pretender is named Jarod. This is documentation from
his office. Find Jarod and give him the answers that I can not give you.
I am going to get more information on him from another place. If I am not
back before you are packed leave; because, they will have caught me."
She changed some settings on the security system and continued packing
up the truck. As she returned with the cart Markam returned with a box
filled with little red notebooks laying on top was a folder. "These
note books are the documentation Jarod has left of what he has done on
the out side. This folder contains his past." He looked back out the
door. "One of the guards saw me as I was walking back; you better
go before he gets suspicious."
She turned to leave. "Wait! Stop, please." He reached out
and hugged her close to him. He placed a kiss on her forehead. "I
got you some ID' s, a birth certificate, driver's license, and a social
security card. They may not be yours; but, they will allow you to get
established.
And, I made this for you. The simulations you made were for money. You
received commissions from them. Access the Internet via this disk and take
the money from the listed accounts. The money is already yours - use it.
" He stood back and waved her goodbye.
"Thank you." The woman whispered.
"What for?"
"My freedom." She then walked back to the office security
board and touched the DSA. "This is the only proof of what happened.
Tell them I over powered you and escaped. I will be watching."
The DSA picture went blank. She sat there for a long time just watching
the darkened picture her reflection her only company.