Date: Wed, 11 Jan 1995 00:22:33 -0500 Reply-To: NancySSCH@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha ch3.p144-150 c 1995 N.L. Cleveland Duncan clung to that last, slender hope. Hope that his own fears had magnified the situation beyond what it was. He knew he was still off balance, still grieving over Tessa's loss, still too quick to see the darker shadows in life, instead of the bright possibilities. "MacLeod, I'm sorry." Joe's voice was slow, heavy. "Something happened you should know about.This is from one of our people in D.C." He hesitated, as if he didn't want to go on. Didn't want to say what he was about to share. "Tell me. I don't have much time, Dawson." Duncan needed to get it over with. Wanted the hot quick cathartic pain to burn and sear and be done. Waited to hear what he expected Joe to say. Waited to hear which Immortal had taken his young friend's head. "The last we saw Richie, he was following another man. A new Immortal, we believe. His name is Jonathan Raven." Dawson spoke quickly now, trying to get as much information in a rapidly as possible. "There was a Quickening. We don't *know* what happened after that. But you know Raven. You were with him in Honolulu, right?" "Yes." Duncan felt the sick hollow ache start in his heart. His last faint hope that this was all a mistake, some kind of misunderstanding, disappeared. "You're in Japan now, aren't you?" Dawson was ruffling sheets of paper in the background. "Tokyo, according to my caller i.d. codes. Look, MacLeod, it's more complicated. We believe Raven is over there too. We lost him in D.C. but we have an semi-confirmed sighting from Kyoto. I'm getting a photo faxed to me right now. I'll send it on to you to verify." "That won't be necessary." Duncan knew already that Raven was going to Kyoto. Would be there waiting for him, when he arrived. The Immortal fought through the misery that surged in his heart, and remembered to think. Saw the pattern, and asked. "Why are you telling me all this. What do you want? You don't usually share this kind of information with me. What's going on?" He tried to keep the anger out of his voice, but it was there. He hated being manipulated by the Watchers. Hated being a puppet doing their bidding. But if it would speed his resolution of this issue, he'd use their tools, use their information. He just wanted to know the price. Up front. "There's another Immortal involved. This is very important, MacLeod. This Immortal seems to be some kind of a catalyst, tainting everything he or she touches." Dawson's voice faded for a moment, as if he had covered the phone with his hand, then returned, and continued. "We aren't entirely sure of this. Its been very difficult to verify completely. All we know is that this cycle has been repeated over and over. And its picking up speed. That's the only reason we even noticed. We're trying to go back through our records and see how long this has been going on." Dawson's words registered on Duncan's mind, but the meaning, the purpose, slipped by. He closed his eyes, shutting out the room, hearing only the voice hissing across the wires. Trying to see the face, the eyes, the mind of the man, behind it. "We believe what happens is this. A new Immortal comes into a town, tracks down one who's been living a stable, settled life. They fight. Whoever the winner is, even if its the one who was challenged, even if they're in a job, have a family, have never sought out another Immortal to take a head, they drop everything, leave their old life behind, and begin hunting down other Immortals. Ruthlessly." Dawson paused for breath, and emphasis. "I tell you, MacLeod, I've never seen anything like it before." Duncan tried hard to listen. To concentrate. To care. But he kept seeing Richie's face. Hearing the youth's voice. Remembering how he first found him. Remembering them laughing together. Richie. Tessa. Himself. He passed his hand across his eyes. Pulled his mind back to the man, and his story, on the other end of the phone. "So what does this have to do with me?" "MacLeod, Raven was with this other Immortal, and there was a Quickening. We're not sure how many others he may have killed, or if he's the one who will continue on this rampage, now. He put our closest Watcher out of commission, first. As if he knew who we were." Frank suspicion was in Dawson's voice. "You told him, didn't you?" "What of it?" Duncan had no time for these games. "Get to the point." "That *is* the point, MacLeod. He's a killer. We *know* he was involved in that explosion at the federal building. Hundreds of people died or were injured. Mortals, MacLeod. Not a part of your Game." Dawson's voice grated in Duncan's ear, the voice of conscience, calling him to account. Calling him to judgment for his mistaken mercy. "And we suspect he's killed other Immortals, too. Good people, MacLeod. There was a woman. Decent. Competent. Never took a head without a damn good reason. She gave him shelter. She's disappeared now, too." "And so you're telling me where he is? So I can track him down and kill him?" Duncan spoke in a dull monotone, wondering why he even stayed on the line. Why he was even continuing this conversation. Why he wasted time talking when he could be on Raven's trail. Could be hunting down the man. Could be closing in to the final challenge. The battle Duncan had never hoped to fight. The inevitable confrontation he could not avoid, now. "No. Damn it, MacLeod, haven't you been listening?" Dawson's voice rose in pitch, and volume, cutting through the fog of grief and anger that clouded Duncan's mind. He listened now, jerked into sudden awareness by the fear and concern he sensed in the Watcher's voice. "You don't want to take this Quickening. It may change you. Turn you into something, someone else. Someone evil. I'm warning you, MacLeod. Don't do it.:" Not take Raven's Quickening. The only way MacLeod could not do that would be to have him killed by someone else. To set him up, to betray him, to his mortal enemies, and to be far, far away when the man died. And then, to waste the man's life. To kill him and kill all his knowledge, all his experience, to keep it out of the heritage passed to the final one...and to throw away all the knowledge of those other Immortals he had himself killed. Richie..his would become just another wasted, forgotten life, Mako, all those others from before... The waste, the waste. It appalled him. And how could the Watchers be sure. How could they know that no other Immortal could stand against this mysterious other. How could they be sure? "MacLeod?" Joe's voice, softer now. Compassionate. "Are you still there?" "I'm still here. Still listening." Duncan pulled his scattered wits together, and fought back, fought to pry more information from the Watcher at the other end of the phone. "If you're wrong....." "I can't make any guarantees. I know how you felt about what happened to Darius. To see it happen to Richie too..." His voice trailed off. Returned. "We just don't know how your Quickenings work." Dawson sounded bitter now. Resigned. "I only wanted to warn you, MacLeod." His voice strengthened, in a final plea. "Because I respect you. Who you are. Your integrity. I wouldn't want to see that change, Duncan. I don't want to lose you, friend. " The word reverberated in Duncan's mind. "Thank you for your concern, Joe." He could offer the Watcher that much. His Christian name. But no more. "I'll be in touch." He heard the beginning of another plea from Dawson, as he disconnected the call, and put the receiver back on the stand. Stared at it. Stared through it. Remembering. * * * * * The telephone gleamed, its shiny black plastic reflecting the streetlights glare from overhead. Jonathan watched Mariko through the windshield as she stood at the outdoor kiosk, talking to a man who would pass her message on to the Dragons. It was beginning. The final act would be opening soon. And his vengeance would be complete. He searched his heart, trying to find some elation, some joy. There was nothing. Only the hope, faint and flickering, that soon he would be freed from this terrible compulsion, this endless, eternal quest. He moved his eyes to the rear view mirror, noting the headlights that had followed them down from the hills of Kita-Ku were still there, the unseen car behind them parked, inconspicuously, by a small produce store down the street. Offering no threat, at the moment. Merely watching. Following. Reporting their movements. It made no difference to him, now. They could follow him to hell, for all he cared. And they probably would. He smiled at the thought. Certainly would, if they strayed too close, tomorrow. No. It was an amusing thought. But he had to lose them. Tonight. What he did tomorrow, only he should be a witness to. He had pointed out their unknown companion to Mariko, earlier. They had first appeared behind them just before the Koetsu-ji shrine. Right before the single road winding down from the high point of Shiro-yama met its first intersection. Right before they could have taken another course, have muddied their trail and confused any followers, on their way back into Kyoto. She said she recognized the headlights by their shape and pattern. It was an undercover police car, according to her. Probably had picked them up from a description on the police radio. This car was too hot. The plates were known by dozens of witnesses, and it had been the only one leaving the burning house, this evening. They would follow, until they decided whether Mariko was a captive, or a willing passenger. Then, they would move in, to ask questions that Jonathan had no time to answer. Mariko had finished the call. She turned and started to walk towards the car. Jonathan knew exactly the words she had said. Could repeat them, by heart. They had talked them over, shaped and reshaped the lure to make it perfect. To make it work. Now, it only waited to see if the Dragons swallowed the bait. Her role was finished here. It was time for him to go on, alone. For her to go back to her own world. He slid down the window as she approached, and gestured her towards him. Aware, always, of the waiting car, behind them. Her eyes were hooded, their expression hidden in the shadows that fell across her face from the streetlights overhead, but her body betrayed tension, in the way she held her shoulders, the way she walked. "What is it, Jonathan?" She bent her head close to his, her voice quiet., a tendril of her dark hair falling across her face. Jonathan yearned to touch her face, to tenderly brush away that loose strand. To erase the lines of pain, of grief and terror that faintly traced her brows, and shaped her lips into a thin, hard line. He put a hand on her wrist, instead. Felt the pulse, jumping erratically under her skin. "Did you get to them?" He knew she had. He just wanted her to feel the completion, to know that she *had* done something, *had* struck a blow for her family. "Yes. They understood." But there was no satisfaction in her voice. She sounded troubled, instead. He looked into her face, his expression asking silently what had gone wrong. Her eyes would not meet his. She stared past him, at the patient, anonymous watchers in the waiting car, instead. And spoke, as if to a ghost in the night. "It was odd. They didn't seem to know who I was, at first. Or what I was talking about. They weren't interested in listening at all. But when I mentioned your name...everything changed." Jonathan felt a quivering hint, a tremor of insight, hovering just out of focus, just beyond his conscious grasp. This was important. He didn't know how, or why. But it simply didn't make sense. He was missing something. His conclusions *were* the only possible ones, though. It was probably just caution, on their part. Habitual denial of responsibility, in case someone was listening, in case it was a trap. And who else besides the Dragons would want to kill Mariko's family? Or was this all a terrible mistake? Had he just assumed that he was the target, when it was her own work that had set her up? Had he placed her in double jeopardy now? But no, she had assured him that nothing she was doing was in any way dangerous. She had just *begun* her undercover training, and had been doing simple surveillance work on suspected drug dealers. Nothing more. No buys, no direct contact, no sting operations aimed at reeling in the big fish. Not yet, anyhow. Drugs were a new phenomena in Japan, and the police were feeling their way into the situation cautiously. Too cautiously, according to Mariko, but that was another story. Still, there was that detective who had been following...someone....on the street yesterday. Jonathan had showed Mariko his wallet and i.d., but she had never seen him before, never heard of him. Jonathan had decided his first suspicion was correct, the man had been suborned by the Dragons, and while not one of them, was possibly reporting to them. It was another loose thread that did not fit into the neat pattern of his plans. But he simply did not have time to trace this thread to its source. He could only proceed, and hope it would not unravel the carefully constructed revenge he had crafted. Or what was left of that plan. "Mariko. Your part is done now." She nodded, and turned her glance back to him, one last time, her eyes still unreadable in the night. "Goodbye, Jonathan. I wish you luck." She half reached out for him, her fingers almost touching his face, then checked the motion of her hand. Too aware of the car, still watching. She took a breath, as if to speak again, then spun abruptly and walked away. Jonathan repeated the mantra to himself, willing it to become true. He gunned the motor of his car. It squealed away from the curb. Watching Mariko in the mirror as she walked directly back into the glaring headlights of the following car. It pulled away from the curb, as well, but Mariko stood in the middle of the road, her arms akimbo, stopping it with the fragile presence of her body. Jonathan's last glimpse of her, standing proud and aloof in the road, the unmarked police car slewed sideways next to her, the two officers out, one calling for pursuit on his radio, the second gesturing madly for her to get in, take cover, and let them join the chase for Jonathan. He lost them easily, in the first few blocks, but kept picking up the suggestion of other followers, followers who paralleled his path, instead of pursuing directly. Every passing car could be reporting his whereabouts. Every pedestrian. He still had work to do, tonight. To prepare for the morning. And he needed transportation. He glanced at the streets around him. He was in Kamigyo-Ku, near the old Imperial Palace. He turned onto Karasuma Street, next to the park that held the palace grounds. It was the perfect place to lose the car. He pulled over , parked, and left it. The keys in the ignition, the window down. It had worked before, would work anywhere. He could see shadowy figures in the park, moving towards the car, even as he walked away. Jonathan fingered the lump of bills still remaining in his pocket from Shonte's loan, as he hailed a cab. Her final, conscious legacy to him. He would spend it well. He only regretted that he could not avenge her loss, too. But he had no idea how. A part of her would always be inside him, a part of her Quickening, a part of her soul. But it would die with him, now. The driver took him to the Kyoto University district, and let him off at Higashiyama, as directed. Jonathan knew he could find a few eager students to play the part of his fellow retainers, to carry the palanquin to the Dragons, at dawn. And the money wouldn't hurt to stir their enthusiasm, either. He was gambling with their lives, he knew. Gambling the Dragons simply wouldn't kill them all. But he counted on the Dragon's pride, and their anger, to let him in. To open their doors and usher him into their trap, to gloat, only to spring the trap on themselves. It was a gamble he had to take, because it was his only way in, now. Jonathan wasn't too concerned if the Dragons picked up his trail now. They knew his plans. And his actions here only confirmed them. Validated the information Mariko had already given them. Let them know he was proceeding in apparent ignorance that he had been betrayed. He just counted on them not taking him themselves, first. That was the real risk, now. But if they tried, if they tried to choke off his threat before he even approached their walls tomorrow...well, he still had a few surprises for them, not least of which was that he was now an Immortal. The festival's celebratory air had reached the University precincts. The streets and bars were full of students, some dressed in fragments of costumes, others looking as if they had just stepped off the stage of some historical drama, still others in western clothes, far too sophisticated to participate in the costume play, yet not entirely willing to spend the night studying, either. Lured by the general excitement, but pretending to be above it. Jonathan hid a smile as he watched the rituals of youth being acted out, the stalk, the hunt, the elusive dance of flirtation. He had found his helpers. Three husky students, wearing matched white shirts identifying them as members of the wrestling team at the university. He judged they were strong enough. Had judged them sober enough too, at least to remember their arrangement and to arrive where and when he needed them. Had interested them with a fanciful story of a prank, a bogus festival gift, with a whiff of danger thrown in. He could not lead these lambs straight to slaughter, totally unaware. He had to give them a choice, at least. They were drunk enough to be intrigued, young enough to dare. He paid them five thousand yen, to show his good faith, and had promised them the balance, seventy thousand more, after the palanquin reached its destination. Then he had sealed their bargain, with a round of Kirin. They would come. That, he was sure of. And he would do his best to make sure they left alive, as well. Bowing and shaking hands once again, exchanging compliments and effusive promises of eternal brotherhood, he left his temporary allies to continue their celebration. He still had some few, final errands to attend to, before dawn. Back on the street, he looked in vain for an unoccupied cab, then set out walking to a more likely district, hunching his shoulders against the chill night air. He glanced around every few minutes, looking for the distinctive cartop lights that signaled a vacant ride, feeling that too familiar sense of unease prickling along his back. Was it the Dragons, this time? The police? He sought out the darkest streets, the most deserted ways, to lure his pursuer to close with him, feeling a reckless joy at the thought of action, of engaging with one of the enemy, at last. That anticipation turned to dismay as he saw a man step from the shadows at the end of the long narrow alley he stood in, saw him, and simultaneously felt the presence of an Immortal soul pressing on his, an Immortal mind, brushing against his own. He pulled the katana from under his coat, and walked forward, damning his luck and the timing of this challenge. Silently promising whoever stood before him an early death, and a fast journey to hell. =========================================================================