========================================================================= Date: Wed, 17 Apr 1996 19:01:00 PDT Reply-To: Mike Goldman Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Mike Goldman Subject: "A Dangerous Game" (12/22) HL Story "I must be wise, I must try to analyze..." By the time Duncan had locked the basement door and returned to the living room, Joe was nowhere in sight. "Where did he go?" he asked Richie, who mutely pointed to the study. Duncan nodded and went in search of his friend. Knocking on the study door, he heard a brusque "come in" and entered to find Joe standing in front of his bookshelves, running a finger over the various tomes. "Joe? What are you doing?" he asked. "Looking for Kijewski's Chronicle." Joe responded without turning around to acknowledge Mac's presence. Apparently finding it, he viciously pulled out a worn leather volume and tossed it over to the desk, then limped over after it. "Do you think you might find anything?" "I have absolutely no idea, but I've got to try *something*." said Joe, setting down his cane and resting his hands on top of the desk. He looked up at Macleod with a weary expression. "I don't know how much time she has." "What do you know?" Mac asked, walking further in and shutting the door behind him. Joe sighed. "There's a very oblique reference to something of this nature happening back in the mid-1500's. An Immortal named John Michaels suddenly started acting like an Immortal named George Havers that he'd killed several years before. By all accounts, he called himself George, behaved like George and started working as a mapmaker...just like George." "What happened?" "He went insane and one of his friends helped him commit...suicide." "Suicide?" "He cut off John's head for him." Mac's hand went automatically to his neck before he thought about it. "That seems a bit...drastic." he finally commented. "John--or George--was getting more violent and couldn't be controlled any longer," Joe explained. "According to the report, it was John who was begging someone to kill him." He listlessly flipped the cover of the Chronicle open and stared at the opening page. "Come on, Joe," Mac said with forced good cheer, "that won't happen to Rory." "And why not?" Joe asked, still looking at the Chronicle. "Because we'll think of a way to stop it." Joe smiled slightly. "That's what I like about you, Macleod, you're always an optimist." He picked up his cane again. "I suppose we should get back to the journals. Will Anne help us read? It'll probably go faster that way." Mac nodded and Joe picked up the Chronicle and they went back out to the others. After a brief explanation, Anne agreed to help for a few hours and they went back upstairs with everyone picking up the journals they had started on except for Richie, whose journal was obviously too old, and Anne, who scanned the covers for a moment and then picked one out of the middle of the box. "Why that one?" Richie asked. "I don't know," she responded. "It just felt...lucky." Sitting herself down in a straight-backed chair, she began to read. A short time later, she started chuckling and they all looked up at her. "What's so funny?" Richie wanted to know. "It's nothing." she said, biting her lip to stop the grin spreading on her face. A few moments later, she was chuckling again. "What?" said Duncan, putting down his journal. She looked up at them. "Well, this seems to be an account of when she first met *you*, Duncan." Macleod shifted uncomfortably on the bed. "Really?" Anne nodded. "She really didn't like you all that much, did she?" Joe and Richie looked at Mac with raised eyebrows. Duncan exhaled. "No, alright?" he finally said to three pairs of questioning eyes. "I can see why -- you can be a little...overbearing at times." Anne commented. "Anne!" Duncan protested. "Read it, Anne," Joe asked. "I don't know.." she said, looking at Mac with a wicked gleam in her eye. "I could use a laugh." Joe said. She looked beyond him and Duncan reluctantly nodded. Anne cleared her throat and began. "March 27, 1919. Met the Immortal named Duncan Macleod today. Quite the puffed-up little Scot he is. Amanda has mentioned him to me once or twice, but I fail to see what she finds so attractive about him. Oh well, at least he was useful...." >> March 27, 1919, County Cork, Ireland >> Rory sat in the back of the pub, nursing a pint. The raid against one of the Royal Irish Constabulary post had gone well--they'd gathered several new guns as well as some supplies--but now she needed to lay low for a couple of hours. However, a woman alone in a pub was sure to invite some speculation when the local law started asking questions. Trying to figure out her next move, she softly whistled a line from a Gilbert and Sullivan operetta, "A policeman's lot is not a happy one." She took another sip from her pint and let her gaze roam around the room. Plenty of farm boys here tonight but she knew Seamus would be upset with her if she picked one and somehow suspicion fell on him after she left. Her eyes slowly roamed the room again as she smoothed her skirt. < 'Twas a good thing I brought along a change of clothing,> she thought, . Suddenly, she spied a tall dark-haired man picking up his drink from the bar and moving towards a table in the back. she thought. Picking up her drink, she ambled slowly towards the bar. "Who's the new boy, Seamus?" she asked, handing her glass over for a topping off. The bartender, Seamus, filled the glass and handed it back to her. "Some Scotsman," he said disinterestedly. He looked at her. "What are you thinkin' of, Rory?" "Nothin' ye need to know about," she responded. "Just let Sam know >we'll be leavin' soon." "Don't you go doin' anything that's goin' to get me in trouble, now." Seamus warned. She patted his hand. "You worry too much." she responded, then picked up her glass and wandered towards the stranger. As she drew slightly closer, she felt the buzz and saw him look up sharply from his drink. Trying to contain the glee she felt, she sauntered up and stopped in front of his table. "Ye're lookin' kind of alone." she said. "Mind if I join ye?" The man turned a toothy smile on her. , she thought. "You certainly may." he said in a broad Scottish accent. "My name's Duncan Macleod--of the Clan Macleod." "Really?" said Rory, smiling as she slid in next to him. "My name's Rory Malone-- of no particular place or clan." "So what are you doing here all alone?" Duncan asked. "Oh, I was supposed to meet my boyfriend, but he seems to have decided to do something else tonight." Rory lied easily. "Well then, he's the fool." Mac responded. Rory smiled shyly. "Thank ye." haggis.> "I'll probably scare ye off by bein' so forward, but...I don't suppose ye'd be willin' to keep me company for a while, instead?" Duncan took her hand and held it in his. "I can't think of anything else I'd rather do right now." He looked at her intently with dark brown eyes. she thought, controlling an urge to smile as her prey took the bait. The evening progressed and, by the time the law came around, Duncan and Rory were snuggled in the back booth looking for all the world like they'd been there forever. The newcomers asked Macleod a few questions, but didn't even bother with Rory. After they left, Rory sighed. "Tis gettin' a little warm in here. Let's go out and get some fresh air." He agreed and they walked out hand in hand. Once outside, she led him away from the pub and towards a small >grassy hill somewhat outside the town. "Where are we goin', lass?" he asked during their walk. "One of my favorite spots." she replied, keeping her thoughts to herself at the way his face seemed to light up. They continued to walk in the moonlight until they came to the tall tree at the top of the hill. Stopping underneath the tree, she sat down, tucking her skirt underneath her. Duncan sat beside her. " 'Tis a beautiful night." she commented, looking up at the stars interwoven with the tree branches and leaves. . Turning away, she hid her face in her hands and began to cry. "What's wrong?" Duncan immediately asked. She took her hands down and made as if she was wiping tears from her eyes. "I'm sorry." she apologized, "It's my boyfriend. We were supposed to meet tonight to talk about gettin' married, but I guess I've got his answer since he didn't show up." "But that's good." he said. "How?" Rory sniffed. "Because you know what kind of man he is." "And," he continued, taking her face in his hands, "I don't have to worry about the competition." He kissed her. >> >> "Hmpf." Joe made an unintelligible noise from his position on the bed and Anne looked up to see Joe cross his arms as Duncan's face turned an even more interesting shade of red. "Should I continue, gentlemen, or should I just let the testosterone flow?" she asked. Getting no response, she made the choice. "I'll continue." >> >> Rory let herself lean back into the kiss as Macleod bore her to the ground. , she thought. As he kissed her again and began moving his hands downward, she cracked open an eye and saw Sam standing over them. . Bringing her leg up slowly, she bent it at the knee---and then rammed it into Macleod's stomach. He rolled over gasping. "What was *that* for?" he wheezed. Rory ignored him. "What the hell took you so long?" she demanded of the newcomer. "Police were still wanderin' around." Sam said as an apology. "Is this your boyfriend?" Mac asked, his vision starting to clear. "You didn't use the boyfriend story again, did you?" Sam complained. Rory shrugged. "It works well" she responded. "Him? No." she answered Macleod as he crawled up on his knees and turned, sitting down heavily. When he looked up at them, Sam had a gun trained on him. Rory grabbed the bundle by his feet and tore it open, shaking out the men's clothing she had discarded previously that evening. Standing up, she pulled the pants on underneath the skirt, then unbuttoned the skirt, pulled it off, then pulled the pants up the rest of the way and buttoned them. She had kept the men's shirt on as part of her new outfit and now simply pulled the suspenders up over her arms and shrugged on the jacket and jammed her hair under the cap. "Do ye think we're far enough from the town?" she asked Sam. He took a quick look behind him. "Aye, I think so." "Will someone please tell me what's going on?" Duncan demanded. Sam looked at Rory. "Why not?" "Did ye hear about the raid on the Constabulary post this evening?" he asked. Duncan nodded and Rory pointed to both her and Sam. "You were there?" he asked in disbelief. "There? Hell, we planned it." she responded. "Now, we need to get out of here, except the law's looking for excuses to bring anyone in; therefore, ye're our diversion." "Diversion." Duncan said flatly. "Here's how it works." Rory explained. "We're going to shoot ye--" She stopped as he recoiled automatically. "Oh, stop it. We probably won't *kill* ye--just wound ye severely. Then, when the police get here, ye'll tell 'em that two *unidentifiable* men shot ye and then ran off towards the woods." "And if I don't?" Rory stepped up to him and quietly spoke in his ear. "Then I'll come after ye for your head--and I'm that good. So really, it's the lesser of two evils." She stepped back. "Well?" "It doesn't look like I've really got a choice." he said petulantly. "No," she agreed, "ye don't." She walked back to Sam and turned around. "Shoot him." The last thing Macleod heard was the report of the gun and then Rory's and Sam's footsteps as they took off running. >> >> Anne didn't look up for a few minutes after she finished reading. When she did, she was just barely able to control the smile on her face. Richie, on the other hand, was grinning hugely. "So," he exulted, "it appears I'm *not* the only one who thinks with body parts other than his brain." "Thank you, Richie," Mac snapped. The bed moved slightly and he looked over to see Joe nearly in tears from laughter and subsided somewhat grumpily. If it helped Joe feel better.... Joe finally wiped his eyes. "That was interesting, but it doesn't get us any closer to figuring out what's going on." "Has Kijewski's Chronicle helped at all?" Richie asked. "Not too much. He was born about the same time as Rory but became Immortal around the age of 47. Apparently he was a frustrated singer--loved music, but couldn't sing a note. He decided he should work on training young singers for the stage. I guess he thought he could live vicariously through them. He was training at the Paris Opera when Amanda--Rory killed him." "Sounds like he was her voice teacher." Anne suggested. "It's possible." He pounded his thigh in frustration. "Since Amanda was there at the same time, the Watcher concentrated on her and ignored the notices that went out about other possible Immortals in the area. Wish I had him in front of me now." To interrupt this train of thought, Anne shut the journal with a decisive snap. "Well, I should check on my patient to see if the sedative is working." "I'll come with you." said Joe. "Why don't you stay up here and rest for a moment?" Anne suggested. "It's been a long day. Richie can stay with you and help sort the journals into some kind of timeline--I noticed in mine that Rory wasn't very careful about dating each entry." Richie opened his mouth, but Anne fixed him with a look and he nodded. "I'll go with Anne." Duncan offered. "Alright." Joe agreed grumpily. It *had* been a long day and getting the journals in shape would probably help them find clues that much sooner. Anne nodded and she and Duncan went downstairs. As they reached the first floor, he asked her what that had all been about. "If Joe's not careful, he's going to exhaust himself trying to find a cure for this, this...Immortal schizophrenia." she answered him. "He's not Immortal like you and Richie. Plus, I have no idea if the Haldol is even going to *work*, so I'd rather not have him be disappointed right off the bat if nothing's changed." Mac nodded. That made sense. Grabbing the key off the table, he led the way to the basement and opened the door. Lori mgoldman@cts.com Bass Player/Musical Director for the SJD Kick-Ass House Band CFW/WAR Chief for Smokin' Joe Dawson in the first HL WAR