Parker lurked in the shadows outside the house. He was afraid of what he'd find in there, the Amber Alert had sounded over half an hour ago. A fourteen year-old girl had been abducted. He was afraid he'd be too late, or at the wrong house completely. He crouched when he passed an open window, then lifted his head and looked inside. Empty. He held his breath and strained his ears for any sounds coming from the house. Nothing. He glanced around the dark yard one last time, then climbed through the window silently. Parker moved through the house like a cat on the prowl, ready to strike at any moment. His hand held the hilt of his machete loosely. He paused by a doorway, his breathing shallow and steady as he listened.
And then he heard it, a terrible sound. A muffled sob. Skin slapping against skin. Laughing. Parker drew his machete slowly from its case and held it at his side. He was too late. He pinched his eyes closed as his gloved hand covered the knob and twisted. The sobs and relentless pounding of skin on skin met his ears like gunshots. He felt bile creep up his throat as he stepped down the stairs, the sounds growing louder. He knew he should forget stealth, that it didn't matter now, but he couldn't bring his feet to move any faster.
He was grateful for his mask, grateful it didn't show him the whole scene all at once. It was horrific. His eyes landed first on the wife, she was sitting naked in a chair, getting herself off with one hand and filming the gory scene with the other. Parker couldn't look at the man and little girl. He wouldn't. He focused his eyes on the woman, strode over, his machete held tightly in his shaking hand. The woman's moan quickly turned into a scream as her eyes landed on Parker's large, leathered form. She dropped the camera. The sickening pounding had ceased, the sobbing intensified.
Parker stabbed the blade through her bare stomach, pulled it out, then rounded on the man. The man who'd raped this poor little girl. The man who had raped so many innocent girls and boys. The man who'd raped Eden. And here he was, begging for mercy on his knees. Parker pressed the metal against the man's neck. "No mercy," Parker snarled, pulling the blade away, a bead of blood bloomed and trickled down Quine's neck. "How many children have you made bleed?" Parker stabbed the blade through the man's thigh, twisted, then pulled it free and watched the blood pool. "How many children have bled out on this bed? How many have you killed for your sadist pleasure?"
Parker was panting with rage, he was losing control. He wanted to torture Jackson Quine, to slice his skin wide open, but he couldn't. The girl was alive, she was here, she was listening. Why make the horrifying event last longer than it has to? Parker speared the blade into where the man's heart would be, but it was clear he didn't have one after all that he'd done, then kicked his naked chest back to the floor. The machete dripped blood into the pool around the man's sputtering body. Parker tried to control his breathing, tried to control himself from ripping that man's limps off one by one.
Parker walked over to the bed, tried not to watch the girl tremble in the red stain. Parker knelt to the floor, his heart aching, he reached out his gloved hand and slowly removed the blindfold from her face. She flinched away from him. Tears streaked her pale face. "Please don't hurt me," she pleaded in a choked voice. "Please."
"I won't." He stood and grabbed a large shirt from the floor. He handed it to her, feeling horrified that he was making her put her attacker's shirt on. Parker turned his back as she put the shirt on. She was still whimpering loudly and he couldn't help but think of Eden. The aftermath of her attack. He longed to be near her, to hold her again. "Are you done?"
"Yes." It was a hardly a whisper, but Parker hear it and turned around.
"I'm going to get you home, okay? Back with your mommy and daddy. But you've got to close your eyes for me, okay? Close your eyes." She obeyed, the tears still seeped from the corners of her eyes. Parker wiped the bloody machete on the sheets, put it back on his suit, and then picked the little girl up. She held onto his neck limply. He could hardly hear her cries now, she was burrowing her face in his chest just as Eden had. His feet squashed in the dark blood, each step came up stickily and he knew that the forensic team would finally get the lead they were yearning for, even if it was just the size of his shoe. He didn't care about being sloppy at that moment. He cared about getting this girl home safely. And getting himself safely back to Eden.
Parker knew a hospital was only a half mile away, and so he walked. The thoughts in his head seemed to weight him down more than the little girl did. He didn't want to think about what he'd just witnessed, what she'd just been through. But the images were burned inside his head, and most likely forever etched into the girl's brain. He should have killed those two a long time ago. He could have prevented this.
He knew the hospital was a bad place to show up, knew how easy it was to be arrested there. And still he walked, the dark streets making for easy cover.
He could see the glow of the hospital. Only two blocks to go. Would cops be inside? There would undoubtedly be cameras. Parker wished he had taken Eden's advice about a wig. Only one block. If there were cameras how long would it be until someone figured out it was him? He couldn't just dump the little girl off. He couldn't do that. He hung his head as he approached the brightly lit building, hoping no one would be able to figure out it was his face after reviewing the footage, and walked straight through the automatic doors. Screams immediately filled his ears. He didn't look up. He set the girl on her feet, her arms fell lifelessly from his neck.
"Call the police," Parker heard someone whisper urgently.
"Get away from her," another shouted.
No one dared to come near him, though.
"893 N. Peters Road," Parker said in a husky, deep voice he hoped concealed his voice. "893 N. Peters Road. Send the police there."
The silence rang in his ears. No one moved. "Help her," he growled. He hunched his body as he walked for the exit, once outside and away from cameras, he began to sprint.
He only hoped the wail of sirens ringing in his ears were from an ambulance, not police cars.
The back door swung open and Parker crossed the threshold, ripping his mask from his face as he did so. He noticed Eden and Bear right away, curled together awkwardly on the wooden kitchen floor, sleeping soundlessly. He didn't to wake her because he didn't want her to see him like this, out of control—out of his mind—but he didn't want her to sleep on the hard floor in that position either. His chest ached just looking at her. He couldn't even imagine what she'd been through. He crouched down next to the pair of them, Bear lifted his head from Eden's thigh as Parker peeled off his leather gloves.
"Hey buddy," Parker said quietly as he scratched behind Bear's ears, he leaned down and kissed the German Shepard's head. He felt tears stinging at the back of his eyes. "You keeping our girl safe?"
Her head didn't lift from Bear's back, but still she spoke, sleep in her voice, "Parker?"
"Eden."
"Did you do it?"
"Yes."
Her eyes pried open, she stared at him. "Are you okay?"
"I don't know... It was bad, Eden. Really bad."
She removed herself from her contorted positon on the floor and sat up straight, her back popping loudly. Her eyes flooded with concern. "Oh Parker..." She licked her thumb then brought it to his stubbly cheek where she wiped away a smear of blood. He smiled weakly and held his own hand over hers.
"I need to take a shower then take you home."
"I am home." The words had left her mouth before she could even process what she was saying. He stared. She stared back. She knew he was waiting for her to fix her mistake, but she couldn't. It wasn't a mistake. She was home.
The ache in his chest reduced. "I'm going to take a shower. You know where my clothes are if you want to change." He stood uncertainly, his eyes still locked onto hers. Eden shimmed away from the furry mass on the floor and grabbed Parker's limp hand. He pulled her up instinctively, her chest barely an inch from his. She stood on her tip toes and placed a lingering kiss on his cheek. He closed his eyes, soaking up the brand of her love.
Her heels hit the floor and looked up into his conflicted face, wondering if he felt as little love as she had when growing up. He absorbed her affection greatly. She remembered the masked man teaching her how to get out of zip ties and duct tape, she remembered the comment he made about his childhood. It was a comment that ate away at her, Because it's your life, and your life involves zip ties and constant earsplitting screams from your mother and constant beatings from your father.
She wanted to ask him now, afraid there wouldn't be a better time—though she doubted there'd ever be a good time—but Parker had already headed for his bedroom. Eden followed after a moment too long, missing his comment about waiting a few minutes to go in while she had thought about his childhood.
She stepped into his room just as he unzipped his leather jacket. His broad, muscular back was to her, but he turned when he heard the hitch in her breath. He knew she'd seen it and he knew he didn't have an explanation to give her.
Eden's mouth hung open, and before Parker could explain she had crossed his room, her soft hands running over his bare chest. She was shaking as though she felt each scar blossoming on her own skin. He closed his eyes tight and let her fingertips wander over each scar and burn mark. "Parker, what happened to you?" He didn't answer. She hadn't expected him to. Her finger skimmed over the long gash across his stomach before moving to his back. She clamped a hand to her mouth. "Why? Why did you give me the brand, too?" she asked in a muffled whisper. Her fingers touched the ruined skin gently. "Why did you put it in the same place as yours? Why did you get branded?"
He stood with his head hung low. He'd wanted to tell her, he wanted to tell her more than he'd ever wanted to tell anyone. But he couldn't.
"You don't have to tell me," she said softly, her hand trailed from his back, back to his chest. She skimmed the long scar on his abdomen wondering how he got it.
His jaw was clenched tightly. "Are you done?" he asked through his teeth.
She dropped her hand immediately and took a few steps back. She went and sat on his bed, looking at her socked feet knowing she shouldn't have invaded his space like that.
Parker stared at her sadly. Why couldn't he tell her? The words were lodged in his throat, yet crawling up painfully. Choking him. Eden lifted her eyes to meet his, her hair cascading around her face and shoulders. She looked hurt. She should be, he thought, I know everything about her and she knows nothing about me. "I'm sorry, Eden." He turned towards the bathroom, grateful that her eyes no longer pinned him to place.
He stood under the spray of water, willing the words to form inside his head. Everything was mixed together, not a single thought came to him by the time the water ran cold. How could the vivid horrors of his past evaporate just like that? How could the secrets that gnawed on his insides finally be at bay right when he was willing to tell someone?
He dried off, his teeth clattering. From nerves or the burning cold of the water, he didn't know. But Eden was just beyond that door, craving a well-deserved explanation. He branded her and he wasn't even sure why. He looked over his shoulder into the mirror at the pale brand placed directly between his shoulder blades. Small white lines littered his back from when his father's belt finally ripped open the welts. How were the memories so blurred when the scars weren't? He jerked on his shirt and pajama pants, not wanting to see the permanent reminders anymore.
He cracked open the door, the bathroom light spilling into the dark room. He saw Eden sitting beneath the covers of his bed, staring at him with her probing green eyes. "Honey," she said, "come to bed."
A slow grin made its way to his lips and despite the warnings sounding in his head, he flicked off the lights and walked to his bed in the dark. The bed dipped as he lied down next to her. She rolled onto her side and propped her head up with her hand. He did the same. It felt weird having a woman in his bed; his one night stands never usually happened at his house. He had never enjoyed all the coming and going of strangers in his house when he was a child. And he certainly didn't want women wandering off and stumbling upon a certain leather suit.
Eden brushed her knuckles across his jaw line, then ran her finger down the bridge of his large nose. "Do you even wear glasses?" Her fingers ran back up and over the bump on his nose. She assumed it'd been broken more than one, and after seeing the scars on his back, she wouldn't have been surprised.
He chucked quietly and grabbed her hand with his own. The tension in his chest lifted. "Yes? What do you mean?"
"I haven't seen you wearing them that often. Is it like a hero thing, Clark—"
"I'm not a hero."
"—Clark Kent thinks no one notices, but they do." She paused, her eyes burning into his. "I notice."
"I wear contacts when I... go out."
"You look very dashing with glasses, Parker."
"Thank you."
Silence fell. Her warm breath tickled his throat. The secrets bubbled. The darkness gave him courage.
"You want to know about the brand," he said gently.
She searched his eyes. "Yeah."
He sighed.
"No. I—Parker, I just want to know about you."
"Like what?"
"The good things."
"There are no good things, Eden."
"Your favorite color, movie, song. Something." She wove her fingers between his. "Anything."
"I don't know, Eden," he said quietly, returning the pressure with hand, willing her to understand.
"Try."
"Green. A really dark green. That's my favorite color. I haven't really watched a lot of movies..."
"Favorite genre?"
His lips twitched. "Take a guess."
"Action."
"Good guess, but no." He laughed. "Comedies. Not even the good comedies, the really stupid ones that make people question your sense of humor. And I really liked rock music for a while, but I like pretty much everything. Not folk music. I'd rather stab myself with my machete than listen to folk music." He smiled. "But what about you, Eden?"
His joking took her off guard. She liked it. "What? Music? R&B."
He nodded as if this made perfect sense. "And color?"
She leaned forward and kissed him square on the mouth, hard and slow. He returned the presser immediately, his hand gripping the back of her head. She lightly bit his bottom lip before pulling away. "That's the color." She kissed his lips gently once more and smiled. "I like that shade of red." She buried her head into his chest and giggled softly. "Hey," she mumbled.
He stoked her back lazily and placed a kiss on top of her head. "Yes?"
"Does the offer still stand?"
For a horrific second he thought she meant them working together. Her leaving. "What offer?" he asked, trying to keep his tone neutral.
She laughed. It vibrated against his chest, reviving his faltered breathing. "Dinner. Can we finally do dinner?"
His chest swelled. "Dinner? Of course."
She was glad her face was buried against his chest because her grin was becoming embarrassing.
For once he wasn't begging for sleep. He wanted to stay awake with her in this dazed state and talk about everything and nothing. He didn't want to sleep, not yet. He pulled her chest flush against his own and let his breathing even out. He could have laid there all night listening to her steady breathing as he stroked her back. But the truth was crawling up his throat. He wanted to tell her, before he could stop himself he was already talking.
"My father was like your father," he said steadily. "Probably worse, I don't know. I don't know how bad it is at your house, but it got pretty bad at mine." He hesitated. "My dad drank a lot, did a lot of drugs. Perks of being a part-time drug dealer, I guess. Anyways, me and my mom were always at the receiving end of his anger. Mostly my mom. She tried to protect me, she did. But I tried to protect her, too, even though I was scrawny and weak.
"I was six when he first broke my nose." He laughed dryly. "I made the mistake of crying in front of him, and he decided to take off his belt and "give me something to really cry about." My mother cried when she saw my back that night, she kept apologizing, she acted like she was the one who gave me the welts and bruises. She took her sewing kit and tried to stitch up the ripped welts, but that only hurt more and made the scars larger. But that was never the worst of it. He'd be late with his drug money, but he made a deal with his main supplier. I didn't know it then—but I was five, how would I know my dad let his dealer rape my mom? How was I supposed to tell the difference between the screams she made when my dad had his turn and when his dealer did?
"I was nine when I dislocated my elbow. My dad's dealer brought friends that day. The screams... the screams my mother made that day weren't human. And I tried to stop them, I really did. But... but I was a kid and my dad was a man. It didn't take any of his strength to haul me outside in the dead of winter and zip tie me to the metal chair. My dog..." His voice broke faintly, but he pushed on, tears in his eyes. "I loved Penny so Goddamn much. She loved me too, she tried so hard to stop my dad from touching me. He kicked her back, but she kept barking, kept biting him... If I'm being honest I knew he'd do it, I always knew he'd do it. Penny bit my dad too many times. But I didn't think he'd do it in front of me. Didn't think he'd be so cruel. I should have seen that coming too. She bit my dad's leg and he pulled out his knife, kicked her off himself and stabbed her. Right in front of me. My screams drowned out my mother's for a while, my screams drowned out the sound of my elbow being dislocated. I tried so hard to get out of those zip ties to save Penny. But my dad gutted her. Her blood was so bright on the snow, I wasn't sure if I passed out because of that or the pain in my arm." He swallowed tightly. "I didn't talk much after that."
"I was always such a weak, scared boy. I couldn't fight back, I could barely get out of his weekly zip ties. But then one night when I was fifteen my dad came inside in a drunk rage, only to drag my mother out by her hair to where he welded. I ran after them. He kept telling her she was his property, that she was his bitch and that all she needed was the matching brand. So he held her by her hair as he pulled brand out of the fire, he almost put it on her cheek, but I did something I'd never done. I punched him. It was a weak punch, there was no force behind it, but I tried to fight back. It was useless, he had me on the ground in a second, his foot holding my cheek to the ground. I heard my mom pleading, but that was useless too, the brand came down between my shoulder blades anyways.
"He was so wasted that night, forgot he had even done it. He sat at the kitchen table as if nothing happened, demanding dinner that wasn't coming. He got pissed off at my mom for trying to fix my back. He came at her with a steak knife, telling her she better get her ass back in the kitchen. I thought she was going to die. I really did. I... I just wanted to save her, I wasn't thinking. God, I didn't know what I was doing, but it was too late. He slashed the knife almost all the way across my stomach, then drove the knife into my thigh. And... and I yanked it out. And stabbed him in the neck. I watched him bleed out on the kitchen floor. Watched our blood mix together... I almost died that night. They said I would have if my mom had called two minutes later. A lot of therapy followed that. Not just for my leg, but the psychologists I saw thought I'd have problems when I was older. I'm guessing they were right, that dressing up in leather and murdering people counts as a problem. But I tried. I went to college, majored in criminal justice... it just turns out there isn't a lot of justice. Not the kind these people deserve."
Eden had never seen a grown man cry, not like this. Her chest caved in with every horrible thing Parker admitted. She wanted to hold him, keep his body from shaking like he had kept hers from doing only hours ago. She leaned over and kissed his cheek, kissed the bridge of his nose, kissed his closed eyes, she kissed every inch of his face. Her tears mixed with his. She could feel him trying to fight every emotion he was showing her, trying to roll over and shield himself from her, and finally she let him.
She watched his large back trembled in the darkness. She wanted to reach out in touch him, comfort him. He pulled himself together quickly, his back stopped shaking, his breathing evened out. Eden moved closer to him and nuzzled her chest flush against his back. She kissed where she imagined the brand had been placed years before.