Date:         Mon, 6 Jun 1994 00:11:23 EDT
Reply-To:     Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.BITNET>
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.BITNET>
From:         Hobert@AOL.COM
Subject:      CHANGES,  Part 1 (of 5)

Changes
by Kevin H. Robnett
hobert@aol.com

Part 1


        "You cannot stay here any longer."

                  "You're sending me away?"

         "Yes."

                  "But I have so much to learn..."

         "You know the rules.  You know how to defend
           yourself.  You ignore everything else.  What
           more is there?"

                  "You don't approve of what I'm doing."

         "It is no longer my place."

                  "I just..."

         "It's done."



                  "Will we see each other again?"

         "The world is a very small place."

                  "Will you take my head?"

         "Maybe."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

         The grinding sound of the freight elevator
reverberated through the silent dojo.  The room
was enveloped in darkness, lighted only by the
green glow of emergency signs, and the gaping
maw of light from the hall.  <I can't believe he
threw me out.>  The memory of Duncan walking
away when Richie needed his friend most haunted
his memory.  <He's given me everything.  Nothing
is mine.> His steps echoed across the wood floor,
the eternity of black between his old life and the
one yet to be.  <He hates me.>  He fought back the
tears that threatened.  <I'm all alone.>  Finally,
ages later, he reached the light.  Harsh and yellow,
so different from the soft glow of candles Duncan
prefers.  Harsh and bitter, like his existence before.
Before he met them.  For a time he was truly happy,
but it didn't last.  Just like everything else in his
life didn't last.  Looking down, afraid of the light,
afraid of the truth, he didn't see the black man,
until it was too late.

         "Richie, there you are.  I've been looking for you.
           I know it's short notice, but I got two tickets to
           the hockey game tonight, and..."

                  "No."

         "What?"

                  "I can't, Charlie."

         "Oh.  Sorry, man.  Say, is MacLeod...?"

                  "I wouldn't bother him tonight."

         "Why?"

                  "He's not up for company."

         Down the hall, the locker room held only old
clothes.  Shoes.  A spare apartment key.  <Nothing
very important to an Immortal.  Nothing special to
a teenager.>  But there was a back door, and an alley.
In a dark cul de sac his motorcycle sat.  Waiting.
Bought with Duncan's money.  And the sword.
Duncan's sword, made his own.  Forged in blood,
bathed in sweat, cleansed with tears.  <Would
Duncan regret giving me this?  I don't think I
could face him.  There can be only...>

         "Hey, watch yourself.  The streets are
crawling with cops.  Something about one of those
headless murders nearby."  Charlie yelled back,
as the dojo was flooded with light.  A light that
wouldn't shine on him again.

         <Two murders, Charlie.  Both of them my fault.
           Understand, Charlie?  I was ready to kill for her.>

                  <You did.> came a gravelly voice in his head.
Another part of him.

         <I would have done anything for her.>

                  <And that makes you as guilty as her.>

         <She paid her debt.>

                  <And what of you?>

         <I am above mortal's laws, now.>

                  <And Immortals don't have laws?>

         <No! >

                  <The law is the only thing that keeps us....>

         <The law doesn't care.>

                  <It keeps us apart from savages.>

         <It killed Laura.>

                  <Animals kill, boy.>

         <I killed.>

                  <The law...>

< < < < <

         ...was chasing him down the deserted alley.
<I have to get away.   Door to the right, locked.
Oh God, I can't run much more.  I gotta get rid of
this bracelet.  I don't wanna go back to Juvie.
They can't send me back.  I lost 'em.   Wait.  Wait.
Be still.  There.  That door.  I can pick that lock.
Hurry.  I hear him.  He's getting close. OPEN!
DANG YOU...>

         *CLANK*

         <Has he gone by?  Will my heart ever stop
beating so loud?  I can't hear.  I can't hear if he's
outside.  He can't catch me.  I won't go back.  I
won't survive.  I don't hear anything.  He's gone.
Where's some light.  I need to go through this purse.
I can't walk around with this purse.  What was that?
A cat?  Nothing.  What if the cop...  I gotta hurry.
Cosmetics.  Kleenex.  Mace.  Lotta good that did.
Money.  Yeah, twenty bucks.  It'll help.>

          Intent on the money, he never noticed the
figure approaching him from the shadows.  All he
noticed was the feeling.  The feeling of being watched.
Intently.  Identical to the police station and that
weirdo with the sword...

          "You're becoming more trouble than it's worth,
you know."

          Richie started, spilling the purse's contents
across the storeroom's floor.  Hands defensively in
front, slowly backing away.  <At least he's not got
a sword.>  "Hey, man.  Chill.  I said I wouldn't say
anything.  I've been quiet as a mouse.  I haven't even
been near your shop for a month.  I swear.  Just leave
me alone."

          "That's not an option anymore.  You're drawing
too much attention."  Duncan advanced slowly, backing
Richie against a wall.  "Since I can't trust you to behave
on your own, I'll have to watch you more closely.  Be at
the store in the morning.  You're moving in.  If you don't,
that leaves the last option."

          "Wh...Wh...Which is...?"

          Drawing nose to nose, Duncan breathed, "I'll find
you one last time.  And take off your head."

          With a feral grin, the Highlander disappeared
into the shadows.  Once alone, Richie dared to breath.
He stood there for a long time, shaking.  Trembling.
<He's serious.  Those eyes.  He's killed before.  He
wants to kill me.  What am I gonna do?>  Leaving the
purse and bracelet,  Richie fled out of the room.  He
reached for the door knob, only to notice he'd been
clutching something in his hand.  A key...

> > > > >

         "...to my apartment.  No, I won't be back.
You can keep the deposit.  No, better yet, send it
to DeSalvo's Dojo.  Care of Duncan MacLeod.  Tell
him that's all he's ever gonna get back.  Yeah, it's
been a blast for me, too, buddy."  With a click of
the receiver, the last line of his mortal story ended.
Time for a fresh page in a new one.  <But I have
something to finish first.>

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

         Across town, away from the highways, dirt,
and filth was a quaint little street.  Horse-trod
bricks from an earlier era paved the streets.  Here
shoppers visited small stores, trying to find that
perfect 'something'.  If he closed his eyes, he could
almost smell her perfume.  See her through the
window, arranging this or that piece.  Several
times he had stood across the street, watching
her at work.  The way she moved.  Laughed.  <If only....>
But her heart belonged to Duncan, and all that was
left for him was tidbits.  Those too were gone, like
the shop, and the glass window brandishing the word
'Antiques'.  Now was a wood board and a 'Sold' sign.
Cold.  He shivered as a draft of winter  air swirled
down the alley.  <Oh to have never walked this alley.
This store.  Those eyes.  He was too ashamed to look
at me this time.  He's always been able to face me,
no matter what I did.>

         The door opened slowly, sending clouds of
dust around the room.  Everything he couldn't sell
was covered in sheets.  The new owners move in
Monday.  Quietly, almost reverently, Richie moved
to Tessa's workshop area.  Behind a loose brick in
the wall was a brown paper package.  Tessa's
emergency money.  <I think this qualifies as an
emergency.  At least it will tide me over until I
find a job.  That's a laugh.  What can I do besides
break into houses?  Steal things?  I can't even
sell a car to a friend.  I'll find something.  I have
plenty of time now.  At least I won't have to worry
about starving to death.>

                  <The hunger will still be there, boy.
The emptiness. The pain.>

         <Is it really you, Mako?>

         Slowly the light faded as Richie contemplated
the bills and the voice, finally forcing him to flail
in the dark, hunting for the last couch left.  Dipping
into the sack of sandwiches  Angie had fixed for him.
<One more night in this place.>  One last night in the
only place he ever called home.  Opening the thermos,
he sniffed the air as the smell of coffee...

< < < < <

          ...and sound of bacon frying drifted by, waking him.
Wordless singing, interspersed by the microwave beeping
came from the kitchen.  An alto.  <What was her name?
Tessa something.  She didn't say much last night.
MacLeod did most of the talking.  Swords, games,
forever.>  Looking around the room, HIS room, Richie
felt content.  <No more stealing, no more starving,
no more cops.  Who cares if people ran around with
swords and jumped off high bridges?>  For once, he
was king of his world.

         He almost walked into the kitchen undressed,
until he realized his only set of clothes were missing.
Instead, he snuck around the corner to Duncan and
Tessa's space.  Rummaging through drawers, he soon
found a robe of a blue tartan weave.  <Maybe he's Irish,
or Scottish.  Boy, what accents!  I feel stuck in a
badly dubbed foreign film.>  Drawing it on, Richie
glance around the room, first categorizing each item
for resale value.  Grinning to himself sheepishly, he
then took a better look.  <Everything's so old.  Lived in.
Timeless.  Like him.  Even the robe was comforting,
almost warm.  I've never felt this way.  Terrified and...
I don't know.  I don't know the words.>

         "Good morning, sleepy head.  Grab some juice
out of the fridge while I finish the omelets,"  came
a warm greeting as he entered the kitchen.  The area
was large, but he kept bumping into Tessa, not quite
in sync with her morning routine.  She finally forced
him to sit at the table while she brought the food over.
While he devoured the small feast, she continued,
sounding like a mother.  Or a tour guide.  "Duncan said
he might not be back until lunch or later, so this
morning we are going shopping.  I'm sure he has
something that would fit you while we look for...."
She stopped, staring at the living area.

         Richie glanced up.  Across the table, Duncan was
standing in the doorway to the shop, holding a newspaper.
He stared at Richie, a range of uncertain and sad
expressions crossing his face.  They froze in that
position, a bizarre tableau,  with Duncan gazing at
Richie wrapped in MacLeod tartan and Richie staring
back, frightened.  A baby being presented to his father.
Tessa shattered the stillness by getting up, moving
to the cabinets for another plate.  Duncan crossed
to the table, never taking his eyes from Richie.
Richie stared back, too afraid to ask any question,
too scared to look away.  Duncan was talking about
a murder in the newspaper, up in Steveston.
Someone he knew, or more likely owed. More
beheadings.  Over breakfast he mellowed, even
tried to smile.  The strangeness evaporated by
the time everyone returned from the mall, Richie
in the closest thing to camouflage Tessa would buy.
At least she saved his denim jacket.  In return, he
got a pile of invoices to file, until he found a book
by Da Vinci.  And flying the paper airplane across
the shop, where it landed...

> > > > >

          ...at Richie's feet.  He picked up the length of
steel, one of Tessa's leftover pieces.  Sorrow flooded
him as he placed the metal in his backpack.  With one
quick look around, he walked to the door, out into the
day.  His new world.

                    (...you get to decide who you are.)

          <By God, Mac, I will.  See, Mako?  I do listen.>

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

          A lone motorcycle speeds down Interstate 5.
South.  Only because he has not been this way before.
He does not think he will come this way soon.  At least
a century.  Or two.


* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * ** * * * * * * * * * * * *

Continued Tomorrow...

Special Thanks to Claire & Mary Ann!
=========================================================================