Date: Thu, 14 Jul 1994 00:36:19 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "(Nancy Cleveland)" Subject: Aloha Part 7 (of 7) Jonathan opened his eyes. < Kassmir? > A chaotic jumble of images filled his mind. He stared wildly about, his worst fears realized. The two boys' bodies were huddled next to him, beside them lay Yomo's. He sat forward and touched Hikari's cheek, Yomo's wrist. The flesh felt cool, inanimate. No pulse, no life. They were dead. All dead. A buzzing prodded at the edge of his awareness, some kind of sense screaming an alert.... about what? He looked up, tearing his eyes away from the still, silent forms on the floor around him. A man, a dark haired, blood splattered man, leaned heavily on the doorframe, a katana held loosely in his grasp. The buzzing centered on him. His face was shadowed, but his stance, the way he held his shoulders, seemed tantalizingly familiar. Jonathan grabbed the gun lying under the table and pointed it at him. < He can't tell the barrel is bent. I hope. > "Who are you? What do you want?" < Another Black Dragon?> "You won't need that. I'm a friend." Slight Scots accent. < I've heard that before.> "MacLeod?" The man stepped, limped, rather, into the light. It was MacLeod. Jonathan inspected him critically. He'd been in a fight. That much was clear. "Kassmir?" "He's dead". MacLeod nodded towards the living room. "For good, this time." "This time?" < Then I did see him. He did kill my son. But he was dead. I know death, that's my specialty. > "What in hell is going on? Why are you here?" Jonathan got slowly to his feet. < Odd, that slash across my chest isn't hurting at all. And the bullet....what bullet? Something isn't right, here.> "Jonathan, who shot you?" MacLeod's voice was gentle. < Shot? Me? > The memories tumbled in, the wall he'd erected to keep away the pain crumbling and falling. < Hikari. < My son. < Shot me. < The pain. < Kassmir. < Jari. < I thought I was dying. < I thought I did die. Jonathan looked at MacLeod, wordlessly. He touched his kimono. The black silk was stiff with dried blood. His fingers probed his chest through the tattered fabric. Nothing. No wounds. No scars. No gaping oozing hole leaking his life out onto the ground. For the first time in a very long time, Jonathan was frightened. Shaken to the very core of his being. This was not like facing the Black Dragon's assassination squads, not like looking down the barrel of a gun held by someone trying to kill him. This was not like facing death, and fighting with all his skill to survive. He knew all about that. He had been trained, and had practiced and honed himself to deal with every contingency. Including death. < I am an expert, in death. > But this, this was different. This was somehow beyond death, and this was somewhere he had never been, before. " Who are you? Why do I feel your presence? What do you know?" Fear made his voice harsh, and he turned away from MacLeod for a moment, working to regain control of himself. < None of this makes any sense. I shouldn't be here. I should be dead. Or dying. On the floor, with my son. With Jari. Is this all some crazy dream? Some dying hallucination? > Jonathan held his hand out in front of him, looking at the color, the solid meshing of skin, sinew, muscle and bone. He touched the wall, felt every detail of subtle irregularity in the painted surface. < This is no dream. This is real. What happened to me?> He turned back to MacLeod. The man was gazing introspectively at the bodies on the floor, his expression somber. He still leaned on the door, but already he had more color in his face than he'd had when he came in. < He looks like he's spent a few days recovering, instead, he's been standing behind me for a few seconds. Some sort of accelerated healing factor?> MacLeod looked up. He extended his hand to Jonathan. The buzzing got stronger. Hesitantly, wondering at himself for being so afraid, Jonathan took the proffered hand. A shock flowed through him. A flash of memories, kaleidoscope visions of the world, feelings, emotions, a cacophony of hundreds of different voices speaking in dozens of languages and tones, flashed through his mind for an instant, and were gone. Jonathan drew his hand away, staring at it in amazement. "I felt something." Jonathan looked at MacLeod. No, the voices weren't gone. They were there, inside the other man. He could almost sense them, almost sense the roiling, churning emotions held in check, inside MacLeod's silent form. "Yes." MacLeod still spoke in that gentle tone. Like a parent, to a child. A teacher, to a slow but earnest student. "You felt a touch of what it is like, to be an Immortal." MacLeod smiled at him, a hint of irony in his eyes. "You are Immortal, now. Like me. Like hundreds of others. You died, here." He paused, while Jonathan let the shock settle over him, and tried to digest it. < I died? < I died. < Like the others. < But I came back. < How is this possible? MacLeod continued. "You could have lived a normal life. Died in your sleep at 85, naturally. But when you were shot, your violent death triggered your latent potential. You will never age, now. Never be sick. Wounds will heal quickly, like magic. See?" MacLeod pointed at his own thigh, which was crimson with blood, but only a healthy pink scar could be seen through the jagged rent in his pants. "But you can still be killed." MacLeod paused, frowned." And other Immortals, ones like Kassmir, will hunt you, try to kill you." "Why?" MacLeod touched Jonathan's chest. A tiny blue spark leaped between them. The *other* memories flashed for an instant across Jonathan's mind again, and were gone. "For this. We call it the Quickening. It is the power of an Immortal." MacLeod spoke slowly, holding Jonathan's eyes with his own, wiling him to believe, to accept. "All the knowledge and strength, all the memories and emotions of all the others, inside. When one Immortal kills another, by taking off his or her head, the winner receives the life force of the one he or she defeated. Ultimately, there can be only one of us left. We are told that the final Immortal will have the power to rule this world, for eternity." "Someone like Kassmir, ruling over humanity?" Jonathan shuddered, the last twisted image he had of Kassmir, raising his katana, finally making sense. "That would be a nightmare." "Exactly." MacLeod stared at him, intent. "That is why some Immortals, those of us who care about this world and the people living in it, strive to win, ourselves. We seek out new Immortals and teach them how to survive.If enough of us are fighting for good, perhaps we will be the last, or one of our disciples." "So Kassmir knew I could be...like him? He came after me for that?" MacLeod closed his eyes, concentrating. His lips moved silently. "No, he came after you because of the contract he received from the Agency. To kill you.Then he went to the Dragons. Sold your death, twice. It was only when he met you that he discovered you had...potential." MacLeod opened his eyes again. " A lot of people want you dead, Raven." "I'm used to living with that. " Jonathan spoke dryly. So the Director finally gave the order. < What made them think I won't retaliate? Had they discovered Vulcan? Was he on the list, too? Damn them. No one could leave their bloody trade and retire. > "I came here for one reason, to find my son, before the Black Dragons did. And I blew that, didn't I? I kept a high profile, a stable location, tried to be visible, so people with information could find me, help me find him. I knew the risk, but I thought it was worth it, for my son, for Aki's child." Raven paced, bitter regret rising in his throat, almost strangling the words. "But they found him first, the Black Dragons, before I even knew he existed. Twisted his life and his mind into a quest to destroy me. "My son, Hikari, shot me. It was his life's goal." He looked at the floor, looked at the emptiness of his life, now. The search for the boy had been his only purpose, for so long. Gone, all gone. < I failed them both, failed Aki. Failed Hikari. Left him to be seduced , his life twisted and destroyed by the Black Dragons. Failed Jari, in my blindness. What do I do now? > MacLeod walked to his side, not touching him, but standing close. The strange alien warning of the buzz had faded, as Jonathan grew used to MacLeod's presence. His proximity brought it back, intensely. Jonathan looked up from his bleak contemplation of an infinitely long life, with utterly no purpose. < Chasing and being chased by Immortals with swords, killing or being killed by people I've never even met, never wanted to meet, never hope to meet. Hell doesn't come after you die, it comes before. Death would be a relief, now.> "Jonathan, there's something else you should know." Again, that curiously gentle tone. < What more is there? > MacLeod's eyes were intent on his. Jonathan glanced at him, then looked away. < I have no desire to be your next disciple. I am sick to death of fighting, for anything. There is no cause that matters to me. I failed at the only one that did. Failed. > "Immortals are sterile, Jonathan. We can never have children." "What?" His whole world came crashing down. All the paradigms shifted, suddenly. < No children? Then who was Hikari? He matched, perfectly, everything Aki had written. He believed he was my son.> Jonathan put both hands on MacLeod's shoulders, his fingers digging into the hard muscle, his mind flinching at the brief but intense surge of chaotic memories and voices. "Who was Hikari?" Jonathan's voice was uneven, strange to his own ears. < I am losing control.> < Center.> < Calm. > He took a deep breath, willing his heart to be still. MacLeod stood like a solid pillar, a mooring of sanity in the insane world Jonathan was suddenly inhabiting. "Hikari was a boy. Someone else's child. Someone the Black Dragons used, as a pawn, to try to destroy you." MacLeod looked at him, pity and compassion in his eyes. "You never had a son. I am sorry." "So all the letters, from Aki, were forgeries? She never was pregnant? Never had a child?" Raven let go of MacLeod's shoulders, but MacLeod reached and grabbed his wrists, holding him as he tried to pull away. MacLeod spoke quickly, trying to get the worst over, fast. "Aki had a child. Not your son. I'm not sure she realized herself that he wasn't yours. The timing was close. Perhaps she truly believed he was. But there was another man, a Black Dragon, sent secretly to watch her. He was probably the father. She sent the child away, before she died, but the Dragons intercepted him, took him in. They'd been watching her, waiting for you to try and get back in touch. " They taught the boy he was your son. Laid a trail for you to follow and trained him to kill you, when you found him. They have planned this for over a decade. The boy was not ready, before. If another of their assassins had killed you, they would have used the boy for other things. But they had him, kept him in reserve, to use against you at the end." Jonathan shook his head, believing every word MacLeod said, not able to accept the reality it implied. < I've been a pawn for the past 14 years. They've been controlling my life, directing my passions into this false, empty pursuit. How they must have enjoyed this, in Kyoto. > "How do you know this? Why should I believe you?" Jonathan spoke dully, not really hoping to shake MacLeod's certainty in this story. "I know. Kassmir knew some of this, Yomo knew a piece. And there was a Black Dragon, among those I have memories from, in here." MacLeod let Raven's wrists go. "I know this is all a shock to you. That's why I'm here, to help." Jonathan glanced sharply at him. There was another reason, something in his voice didn't quite ring true. < To help? Or to kill me, if I turn out to be the wrong kind of Immortal? You are not a simple man, Duncan MacLeod. Not simple, at all. > "Unlike most new Immortals, I don't think I need to teach you how to handle a sword." MacLeod smiled, respect in his eyes. "Very few could defeat Kassmir." "You'd almost think I was born for this," Jonathan spoke bitterly. "Perhaps you were. Perhaps we all were. I cannot say." MacLeod paused, his eyes searching Jonathan's as if trying to peer into his soul. "There is one more thing. You must understand this. We are truly different. Some say, not even human. There is a group of mortals, they call themselves the Watchers..." "What do you mean, not human?" Jonathan flung out his arms, trying to shake loose some of the nervous energy running up and down his spine. "I had parents, normal human parents. What else can I be?" "You weren't a foundling?" Duncan looked surprised. "No Immortal knows who his parents are. None of us. I believe you were adopted. Perhaps they simply never told you. Check the records, if you wish." < This was too much. > Small hints, slips of the tongue that he'd never understood as a child, came back to Jonathan. Questions he'd asked, that had been evaded and never directly answered. Why he had no brothers, no sisters. < My parents couldn't have children of their own. So they adopted me. Raised me. Loved me. > Another thought struck him suddenly. < Did the Agency know? Those bastards probably knew, too. Never even gave me a hint. > "This is a lot to absorb, MacLeod. You're telling me I'm not human? Then what am I? What are you?" Jonathan turned and started to pace, his motion brought up sharply by the sprawling bodies on the floor. There was no questioning their stark reality. < I can't believe I'm having this conversation. I feel like I've stepped into The Twilight Zone. This is truly insane.> "What ties you to humanity, if Immortals are not even a part of it? Why should you...I.... care?" < Careful. Drink that bitter cup too deep, and there's no reason to go on living. My parents. They loved me. That made them my parents, in fact if not in blood. Like Jari's love, his sacrifice, made him like a son, a true son. Remember that. Remember the love. That is what ties us to humanity, and to life. > ""I think you know the answer to that." MacLeod spoke carefully, weighing his words. "If you don't, I can't help you." < Won't help me, you mean.> Jonathan looked around the carnage that had been his home. Four corpses, and two living dead men. < All we need now is a vampire. Or the police. > Yes, those were sirens, in the distance. Were they coming here? The phone rang. Jonathan moved to the living room to pick it up, stepping carefully over Jari, Yomo, Hikari. "Wait." MacLeod stopped him, his katana blocking Jonathan's path. "Why?" Six. Seven. Eight rings. "No one knows you're alive. Yet. Until you answer that phone. Perhaps you could use a head start. Leave some of your enemies behind." Jonathan pushed MacLeod's katana aside. "My enemies will know I'm alive. It's my friends I'm worried about." He picked up the phone. "Ski?" There was a click, then the blank hum of a dial tone. Jonathan put the phone back down, slowly, then turned and faced MacLeod. "Well, now they know." MacLeod remained silent. The sirens were getting closer. Jonathan gestured at the mess, the bodies, the blood. "How do you Immortals usually explain these things?" MacLeod shrugged. "We try not to be around to have to give explanations. It's your choice." He stuffed his katana into the black nylon bag, and stood waiting for Jonathan's next move. < Make up your mind. > Jonathan gathered his two katanas. He handed them to MacLeod, who added them to his bag. Jonathan picked up his Laptop computer and zipped it into its carrying case. He went to his wall safe and opened it, took out the small bundles of high denomination currency and stuffed them in the case's side pockets. He sorted through a dozen passports and selected one, put it in his pocket, put the others in his case. He reached deep into the safe, pulled out two bricks of plastic explosive and a timed detonator. "The house is insured. My executor will know what to do with the money." Ski would find a use for it. And there is enough in the hidden Swiss accounts to last a very long time. Even if the Agency had cleaned out the one they knew of, there are still the others. < And I can always get a job. > He laid the plastic bricks next to the gas oven, turned on the range, then stuck in the detonator, twisted it to set the timer. Two minutes. Should be enough time. < Everything else, I can replace. Everything except this hole where my heart used to be. > "Come on." He gestured to MacLeod. "Time to disappear. There won't be enough left here to identify anyone. Just enough to prove people were inside. We'll take the Jeep as far as the airport. I know a ravine where it will never be found." He backed out, taking one last look at the place that he had thought might be his home. Now, it was just a shell, a stage for the last act in Jonathan Raven's life. And a mausoleum for the dead. < What comes next? Revenge? > The idea had a sweet taste to it. Seductive. Easy to take that route, lose oneself in action and rage. < The Agency knows I'm still alive. They don't know why. Or where. I could disappear forever. > That thought was attractive, too. To quench the fires. End the cycle. Leave it all behind, and begin a new life. < O r I could track down those cold blooded murderers and take them out, one by one.> There, that touched the burning sore in his soul. An avenging angel. To kill to killers. Yes. That would satisfy him. Somewhere deep inside, a tiny whispering voice began its Cassandra-like chant, and he felt the thrill of fear a man on the brink of a cliff does, just as the footing crumbles underfoot. He thrust the questioning voices away, locked them deep, deep inside. < They can't hurt me, now. > He would be invicible. Unstoppable. < Should I call back my fail safe? I need to know why they attacked me, first. No need to expose my hand, until I know if it's still worth playing. > Jonathan closed the front door, and climbed in the Jeep, next to MacLeod. They eyed each other, the relationship still not clear, a subtle tension in the air. < Are we teacher and student? Peers? Opponents?> It would have to be worked out. There was time. Jonathan punched the memory code on his phone, as he backed down the driveway in neutral with the engine silent and the headlights off. The hills were steep enough here. < I won't need to start the engine until Kilawee.> The phone hummed as the international call went through. < I can call Ski later, from the airport. > The sirens were closer, but still a few minutes away. < Time enough, for us. There would always be time enough, now.> The End (To Be Continued) Comments....please? =========================================================================