Date: Sun, 6 Nov 1994 15:33:11 -0500 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "N.L. Cleveland" Subject: Aloha Chapter 3 (p47-52) c !994 N.L. Cleveland "We were never formally introduced. I'm afraid Shonte never mentioned your name...?" Maria asked the question delicately, but her eyes promised she'd pursue the matter until she got what she wanted. "How rude of me. I'm Joshua. Joshua Miller. Please accept my apologies for not speaking with you sooner. I'm always so pleased to meet Shonte's friends. I'm sure we can make up for lost time, now." Jonathan smiled brilliantly, winning an answering smile from Maria. He was a past master at this game. It was part of the training. Part of who he was, now. Misdirection, confusion, through flirtation. Dazzle them with your charm and they won't remember to ask the right questions. Maybe. He glanced down at Maria's hand, responding to the pressure of her fingers on his arm. The tawny skin of her wrist, barely visible, peeked between her short formal black gloves and her light wool jacket. A darker pattern , a faded tattoo, showed on the delicate inner wrist, a smudged circle. He stared hard, then felt her eyes on him and looked up, to meet her inquiring gaze. His caution deepened. He remembered MacLeod's warning. There were the Watchers, and there were the Hunters. Which one was she? "I'm sure she went this way. We must be right behind her.." Maria pulled him onwards, farther from the clusters of people drifting back to their cars. Farther from the cathedral. Abandoning holy ground. Jonathan felt the enfolding warmth of the sacred place fading as he stepped off the churchyard. One of the perks, he supposed, of being an Immortal was that he had discovered already that there were many sacred places, secret and hidden to most eyes, tucked quietly away in the midst of cities, or in unassuming suburban settings, with no worshipers, no shrines, nothing to mark them out, but readily apparent to any Immortal who passed by. He could sense them, feel their serenity, like a beacon in the night to his lost and wandering soul. This was the first he had enterd, though. And he had found that the peace they offered was only temporary. A superficial relief, to the canker eating at his heart. But a relief, none the less. He felt a pang of loss as they stepped past the low black iron fencing that bounded the church's land. Felt his grief and anger smoldering in his gut, again. Felt his rage, the prod that pushed him onward, ever onward, urging him to hurry, to leave. To complete his task. End his final mission. They moved across a narrow alley and into an area of residential homes, brick Federal style facades presenting a united front against the encroachment of the 20th century. No one was around. Jonthan's senses were alert, his concentration tuned to the possibility of a trap, anticipating where and how it would come. Their foot steps echoed hollowly on the worn orange brick, echoing off the sturdy, neat garages, their doors closed, locked against the day. Maria stopped and swung towards Jonathan. Instinctively, he backed away, loosening his arm from her grasp. Ready for trouble. He stiffened. The aura, the presence of another Immortal. Here. Close by. Very strong, coming from nowhere. From everywhere. He battled to hide his reaction, to concentrate on the unknown quality of the woman in front of him. She had caught the look of abstraction, the sudden shifting of his mental and physical focus. Her eyes were too knowing, her expression too controlled, as she faced him. It was as if she knew, or suspected, that he, too, was an Immortal too. No doubt she was assigned to Shonte. Was she just trying to test him? To discover if he was another of Shonte's proteges? Or had she used him to sniff Shonte out? Had he led the Watcher to her? "What's the matter, Joshua? Are you all right?" Her voice conveyed only concern, her brow furrowed as she looked up and down the alley, seeking a clue to what had pulled his attention so quickly and completely away. Jonathan felt the Immortal's presence as a screaming howl in his mind. He'd never experienced this oppression, this intensity with MacLeod, with the youth Richie, or with Shonte. He knew with a sick sudden certainty that this was the one Shonte had been trying to protect him from. This was evil, prowling for victims, seeking Immortal prey. Had this creature met Shonte? Was she already dead? He had to distract this woman, get her out of the way. He had no time to waste. Shonte had no time. He stared over Maria's shoulder, widened his eyes in shock. Spoke, quickly, urgently. "Maria. Behind you." It was the oldest trick in the book. But she looked, startled. Turned her head, her body, and then slumped heavily into his arms as he held his thumb rigidly, pressing hard against her carotid artery, stunning her. He caught her, hefted her weight in his arms as he kicked open the nearest garage door, then laid her gently against the wall inside. She would be safe, here. And would not follow. Would not see. Or interfere. He pulled his katana from his trench coat, and rose, moving cautiously back into the alley, trying to pinpoint the direction of the Immortal, trying to sense if it was near. How near. He had so little to guide him, so little experience with this. He closed his eyes, and followed his mind's directions, turning towards the emanations. There. He opened his eyes and ran up the alley, cutting abruptly right to follow an uneven flagstone path that led to the back of an anonymous building. The metal gate to the back yard hung open, a heavy chain lying severed on the ground, its sheared and broken links gleaming in the sun. He stepped into the yard. The building seemed institutional. There was no grass. Only bare concrete, and a short flight of steps leading to an open, gaping door. This was the place. The pressure of the other Immortal's presence throbbed in his temples, sending a driving pain through his skull. He took the steps two at a time, and slashed the air with his sword as he moved into the dark interior. Touching nothing but air. His eyes strained to adjust to the dim light. He thought he heard a noise, behind him. He whirled, cutting a lethal circle around the room. There was no one. He stood still, waiting. Listening. Hearing silence. His own heartbeat. The pressure in his head increased. He wanted to cry out, to try to relieve the pain. The tension. He forced himself to be still. There was someone here. He could hear the other, now. Breathing. From around a corner, in another part of the building. His senses strained to penetrate the gloom. There were no windows, no light except the splash of daylight glowing from the door. The breathing changed. Feet, scuffling. He tracked the sound, moved forward as he heard the clash of metal on metal. There were two others here, not one. Two Immortals, locked in combat. Jonathan understood now part of the reason for the extra intensity of the aura that pressed against him. He stepped around a wall, through an open archway, and saw two shapes, indistinct figures in the dusky room, struggling. Saw a quick fatal motion, as one knelt and slashed up at the other. Heard one cry out, in harsh agony, and fall. He slid forward, his feet silent, his blade questing blindly through the dark. Felt the pressure ease, in his head, as an Immortal died. But which one? "Get back." Shonte's voice. Ragged. Indistinct. Relief surged through him. He moved towards the still standing figure, and was abruptly pushed, physically, away. Her foot had kicked him hard, in the chest. He stepped back, bruised, surprised, as she stood over the fallen body of the other, raised her sword and swung. Connected. Waited. A glowing mist drifted off the mutilated form at her feet. Drifted over her body, coalescing around her head, her face, her arms. Showed her features, contorted in a frozen silent scream, in the unearthly blue glow. A brushing, searing touch of the other Immortal's presence flared its hate at him as it passed by, passed into the bucking, twisting body of his lover. The momentary connection leaving behind a seductive emptiness, hinting at what could be, the attraction luring him closer, cajoling him, beckoning him to come, to share, to taste. His feet moved forward again, without his conscious will. Sparks of blue lightning flared across Shonte's body, flashed and arced, sizzling, from the tip of her sword. She was surrounded by a shimmering, intense field of light, like an aurora, that obscured her form and features from his eyes. She screamed aloud, agony raw in her voice. That was enough. Jonathan pushed through the wall of flickering fire, reaching for her, reaching to help. The flames licked at him, cool and smooth against his skin, like ice. Then burning, freezing his blood, his nerves, as they slipped inside. Snatches of images passed across his eyes, obscuring his vision. He touched Shonte, her muscles hard and rigid, quivering uncontrollably in the excess of energy that poured through her. Poured, for a brief instant, into him. Blasted his mind, and soul, with raw unbridled power, hate, rage. Welcomed him, with glee. And then was gone. He staggered back, fighting to remain conscious, to stay on his feet, Shonte's limp weight slumped against him as he held her clutched instinctively in his arms. Cradling her, like a lover, like a parent it's child. Holding and protecting her. His legs weakened and he slid to his knees, still enfolding her body within his embrace. He leaned back against the wall, using it to support himself against this lassitude that crawled up his limbs. Dazed, still, by the brutal contact with that alien other. His thoughts scattered, his brain functioning at the level of survival, of emotion, only. Her head lolled across his shoulder. He raised a trembling hand and smoothed her hair, brushed his fingers across her face, traced the contours of her slack and open mouth, her cheek, her eyebrows, her forehead. Her eyes were open, staring at nothing. He couldn't feel her breathing, could detect no pulse, no warmth emanating from her skin. Blood seeped into his clothing, from a deep gash across her chest. Seeped, rather than flowed. He couldn't think, couldn't believe that she was gone, too. Couldn't accept or understand how, why....but he could no longer feel her aura, no longer sense the presence of any Immortal, except himself. His skin still burned, his muscles and nerves ached in remembered agony from the ice cold, penetrating touch of the blue fire. But the visions, the images and emotions, the awesome power he'd felt flowing through him, becoming him, for that tiny moment, were fading, wispy ghosts in his mind. Mocking ghosts, leaving a tantalizing promise, sketching the outlines of an empty void that he'd never know existed and now yearned to be filled, behind. It must have been a Quickening. His fragmented thoughts began to focus, to track once again. He understood the drive that impelled Immortals to hunt one another down, now. Understood the hunger, the almost sexual lust for completion, for connection, for joining together the minds and powers of the others, within oneself. Understood, and hungered, as well. He'd opened himself to that Quickening, he realized, without taking one. His body was out of joint, out of phase, with what he'd been. He felt odd, the normal flow of his internal rhythms were strange and different. His own heartbeat, his breathing, his ki...the essence of his soul, of who and what he was, were all transformed subtly, in a way he didn't yet understand. He'd started a change, begun a metamorphosis into something, someone else. Begun the transition to becoming a full Immortal, and stopped. Less than half way. Jonathan berated himself for his ignorance, for his pride, in not listening more closely to what MacLeod had offered to teach him. For not understanding why Shonte had pushed him away. Had he killed her? Had his ignorant, unintended interference set up some sort of feedback, that had short circuited her natural, or unnatural, bodily rhythms, had been fatal to her life? She lay, still, unmoving, in his arms, as he hunched over her, dry eyed, willing her to breathe, guilt and grief mingling in his heart. Searing his conscience. She had come to protect him. She had known the other would be here. Had believed, for some reason he did not yet comprehend, that he was not ready to face this other Immortal. She had won, and he had, he now feared, destroyed her in her moment of victory. How long did it take an Immortal to recover? To return to life, from death? He had no idea. He could only wait, and hope that no one came across them before he knew what to do, next. Before he knew if he would be leaving here with his lover, his mentor, or trying to hide a corpse. Two corpses, he suddenly remembered. He understood that his mind was not working well, knew his thoughts were still fuzzy, as he realized that the sound, the noise and lights, were bound to attract attention as well. He had so little time, and no idea what he needed to do. MacLeod said Immortals tried not to be around when the police showed up. But he couldn't walk down an alley carrying Shonte. His skills were in misdirection and avoidance, murder and escape. He, himself, could leave, unseen, disappear without a trace, and be in Japan tomorrow. He was ready. But he couldn't leave Shonte, now. He still had the car. Her car. A black BMW, this time. More appropriate for the circumstances, she'd said. It was parked back by the Cathedral. He searched through her clothing, found the keys in the pocket of her jacket, and carefully eased her stiffening body to the floor. He leaned over her chill, smooth face and kissed her forehead, his lips brushing across her cool velvet skin. A hot tear slid down his cheek, burning its way through his heart. He made a silent promise as he leaned back, then stood, dizzy, swaying, over her form. He would be back. He would not leave her here to awaken alone. Or to rot. He picked up the katana, slipped his useless sword back into its scabbard under his coat, and walked slowly, heavily, to the still open door. His head was pounding now, an ache lingering between his temples, growing stronger as he stepped into the full glare of day, his eyes squinting in the painfully bright light of the open yard. He closed the door behind him and strode to the gate, wrapping the broken chain back around the metal latch, hiding the severed shiny ends within the rusted metal tangle. It looked, to a casual eye, as if no one had touched it. As if no one had entered. It would buy him some time, he hoped. He hurried up the alley, passing the garage where he'd left Maria. She should still be there, still unconscious. He had maybe 10 minutes until she revived. If everything went smoothly, he would be come and gone by then, with Shonte. Jonathan made a point of avoiding the few remaining, lingering mourners, skirting the street fronting the cathedral, and ducking unobtrusively into the car. He fumbled with the keys, unfamiliar with the right one, his vison blurring for a second with the now splitting headache that throbbed inside his skull. The key slid into the ignition, at last. The motor caught, purring smoothly, and he reached for the turn signal, glanced into the rear view mirror, and froze. The blonde man leaned towards him, rising like a spectre from the back seat, his hands reaching out towards Jonathan, a black automatic pistol held in one, pointing at Jonathan's back. "It was you, wasn't it?" Vulcan's voice was low, his icy blue eyes wide as they stared at Jonathan, flickering across his body, examining and noting his pallor, the fresh new skin glowing on his face, the singed patches of hair that peeked out from under the black Stetson. Jonathan moved, continuing to turn his torso, pushing hard with his feet against the floor, shoving himself up and back, grabbing for Vulcan's neck. He felt asurge of regret, and buried it in rage that this man had betrayed him, had betrayed his friendship and his mercy. He heard the muffled explosion of the gun going off, felt the seat jerking under him and a bullet tearing through his side as he reached and twisted and felt Vulcan fighting him. "If you come after me again, I'll kill you next time." He glared into the furious eyes of his opponent, saw the light of reason flare, then fade as Jonathan's grip cut off his air, the blood that nourished his brain and mind and thought. Vulcan's struggles weakened and then subsided. Jonathan hesitated, then let the unconscous body slip from his grasp. There had been enough death, for now. Enough killing. He suspected that Vulcan had little time left. Despite what he'd claimed, before. He didn't look or act likea man in remission. He could spend it as he chose. If he came after Jonathan again, so be it. He had been warned. The cancer that had eaten at him for so long had left him no match for Jonathan's skills. Especailly the enhanced skills of an Immortal. Jonathan leaned back on the seat. The bullet had deflected off his ribs. Smashed into the tape deck on the dash. The controls were ruined. The seat was a mess. So was his shirt. Gingerly, he pulled aside the black trench coat, to examine the damage. Blood soaked through the white linen shirt, and onto the dark leather upholstery. The pain was sharp as he turned the wheel of the car and pulled out of the parking space. He gritted his teeth and continued back to the alley. It was still desterted. He stopped at the back gate he'd so recently left, and levered his protesting body out of the car. He dragged Vulcan out of the back seat and put his limp body into the trunk, almost dropping him as he felt his ribs grate together, the broken bone still not yet healed. He turned and reentered the yard, opened the door to the building where Shonte still lay. He could sense an Immortal's presence, now. It must be she. He walked rapidly through the darkened room, his eyes only slowly adjusting to the light. Moved into the second room, through the archway. His eyes seekign out her form, in the dark. Seeking and not finding it. A flurry of motion. He moved, ducked, rolled and fell, the pain of his ribs as he hit hte floor driving the breath from his lungs for a second. Cold sharp steel pressed deeply into his neck. Shonte's familiar scent enveloped him, her aura somehow strange and different, her hard muscled arm holding him tensed and momentarily helpless in her grasp. "Shonte. It's me. Jonathan." He relaxed, let her sense his peaceful intentions. His care. His concern. Prepared to fight, to strike, to escape, if necessary. The blade at his throat pressed deeper, drawing blood, cutting through the superficial layer of skin on the surface. He gambled with his life, and did not move. Gambled with his love. Did not try to fight her. Fought instead to suppress the fear, the panic building in his mind and body as the air through his throat slowly cut off, as he felt his own blood slipping softly across his skin, like a warm velvet scarf around his neck. "I cannot stop him. Go. Run. Hide." Shonte's voice, but not her voice. Someone else's voice, as well. The blade quivered, he felt her body tensing, as if she struggled with herself, within herself, and then the pressure on his neck was gone. He rolled away and scrambled to his feet. Hands up, sword out, ready to weave a protective web of steel around himself. =========================================================================