Date: Wed, 8 Jun 1994 23:34:22 EDT Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Hobert@AOL.COM Subject: CHANGES, Part 3 of 5 (Third Third) Outside, the cold night air brought some rational thought to Richie, struggling with the intoxicated Gregor. In the distance, flashes of light crisscrossed the sky, as a storm system moved in. The wind picked up, whirling debris and trash down the empty street. The turmoil in the air matched that of the Immortals. They stumbled down the sidewalk, both more tipsy then they'd admit. Down the street, past the alley. Richie noticed the buzz through his fog shrouded mind. Glancing up the alley, a man, sword in hand, waited. A light behind him masked any clue to his identity. The drunken duo wandered up the alley, drawn mysteriously to the stranger. "Gregor Powers. How good to see you. And your friend, hmmm. Ah, yes. You must be Richard Ryan. We never officially met, but I saw you in Paris with MacLeod and the lovely Miss Noel. I would suggest, for your health, to leave Gregor standing there and move to the side of the alley. Mortals die so very easily. It would be a shame to lose you so early in the game." "He's in no condition to fight, St. Cloud." Richie exclaimed, moving cautiously to the wall. "This isn't fair." He quickly searched for a weapon, cursing his carelessness at leaving both their swords at the gallery. He spotted a length of steel in the shadows of a dumpster. "Who ever accused me of being fair, Mr. Ryan? Now, boys." The noise of a van door opening behind Richie made him turn. Two men jumped from the back, dressed in black with ski masks on. Both held deadly looking assault rifles, and proceeded to riddle Gregor's body with bullets. Richie stood in shock, not believing an Immortal would break the rules this much. Gregor jerked in a parody of dancing, then fell face first to the ground, a mass of agony, defenseless, dying. "Go now. I'll bring Mr. Ryan along as soon as I finish Gregor, and we'll all go see MacLeod and his lady together." The two men jumped back in the van and sped off into the night. Xavier moved slowly down the alley, savoring each moment. Richie moved to intercept him a few feet from Gregor, blocking his advance. "Now, behave, and I won't kill you slowly," the black man warned, raising his sword. "Surprise!" answered Richie, brandishing the pipe. His opponent chuckled. A few mocking clashes informed St. Cloud that Richie wasn't the novice he expected. His missing hand evened the odds with Richie's inexperience and drunkenness, so much that the fight dragged on. Stamina again played the key factor, giving Xavier a much needed edge, and driving Richie to his knees. [Allow me.] [I am Phillipe Devereux, and, pardon`, I am a much better fighter.] [Give me control of the body!] [I was the gentleman looking for Felice Martin. We met at the antique shop. You threatened me with a sword? Your face met the floor rather suddenly? Remember?] Richie slowly gained his feet, settling into a more secure stance, swinging the pipe in the air, testing the balance. Xavier stepped back, amused at this display of bravado. "Ready to have another go?" "Whenever you are, monsieur," was the calm reply. The battle took on a more professional tone, no wasted moves, exhaustion forgotten. Xavier's surprised look told Richie more than enough. [Hush. I must concentrate.] In that moment of hesitation, Xavier struck, driving his sword into Richie's side. "I'm terribly sorry. I guess you won't be visiting MacLeod ever again," intoned the African, sarcasm dripping like the blood off his sword." Phillipe parried again, holding the gash with his other hand. "A flesh wound. Not enough to stop one of us!" "You're immortal? I never felt... You were too close to Mr. Powers!" In the moment of shock, Phillipe disarmed St. Cloud, sending the sword skipping down the alley. "Enough of this dallying. I'll remember that in the future." He grabbed the pipe with his prosthesis. Pulling a small caliber pistol out of his coat pocket, he shot Richie in each leg. In the pause, as Richie fell to the ground, Xavier gathered his sword and fled. "I have more promising appointments to keep, young man. Don't worry, I will return for both of your heads later." Moments later, Richie fumbled to Gregor's prone body. Turning him over, Richie noticed the bullet wounds slowly healing. In the distance, the sound of sirens grew closer. "I gotta get you out of here." Grabbing Gregor under the shoulders, Richie struggled to drag him to the street. Pulling him into the deserted road, Richie prepared to hoist him over his shoulder. Suddenly, bright headlights swung from the far corner. Richie threw his arms in front of his eyes as the patrol car stopped ten yards away. Spotlights flared as both doors swung open, dark figures crouching behind them. "Turn around, and put your hands in the air," came the command from behind the spotlights. "Hold on, Greg. We're gonna make a run for it." Richie whispered, hoping the prone man could hear. /Wait! Do as he says. Lift your arms to the heavens./ /There is no time. Plant your feet firmly in the ground, shoulder length apart. Raise your hands as high as they can go, and PULL!/ The cops held their ground as the young Immortal did as he was instructed. In the glare of the penetrating spotlights, he fairly glowed, as the rumble of thunder underscored the scene. "That's him. The one they want to question for those murders in San Fran and up the coast. Call it in, Paul." The sound of the rushing wind drowned out the rest of the conversation. Richie ignored them, concentrating on the voice in his head. /You are a part of this world, a player in the game. As such, the Goddess grants her favor on those worthy of the power. Feel a connection to that which is around you. Extend yourself to that connection./ A spot of light, pale and yellow appeared in his mind. Brushing it, cold and clammy. Suddenly, a small burst of radiance throbbed, *THUMP-THUMP*, *THUMP-THUMP*. /You must reach further. Reach for the maelstrom. Make it yours. REACH!/ From nearby, a brilliant flash of white blinded the cops, followed quickly by the sharp report of thunder, rattling the windows. Richie was oblivious to everything, head thrown back, body taunt. /Grab it and pull it toward you. This is your heritage. This is the power of the Quickening. Praise the Goddess!/ Richie screamed as bolts of lightning coursed down to connect with his hands. Around him danced lances of energy as his body trembled. The cops stood still, mouths open, shocked by what they saw. Slowly, he opened his eyes, staring evenly at the cops. /You must get rid of this. Your body cannot absorb much more. Throw it at yon chariot. The soldiers will flee, and we can make good our escape./ As Richie lowered his arms, pointing his energy shrouded hands at the cops, they slowly retreated, then turned and outright ran up the street. Richie let go, and bolts of power shot to the car, exploding the lights, ripping off the grill, showers of sparks flying through the air. All four tires burst with a bang. Richie threw off his stupor, grabbing Gregor's body and throwing it over his shoulders. Running to the shop at a sprint track stars would envy, he saw no signs of pursuit. Laying Gregor in the doorway, he searched for the keys, rain beginning to pour down. Once the door was shut and the blinds pulled low, he dared to think. /I am Esmerelda, High Priestess of the Goddess of the Blessed Isles, and I am like you./ /I was Immortal, until my head was taken. And you have done no less than Immortals do. You have fought, and though not won, your head is still your own. As is your friend's. You have kept private matters between Immortals out of mortals eyes, and done so without taking innocent lives. You play the game well./ /All is a game, even life. The goal is the same for everyone, blessed peace. It is how you play, your journey, that reflects who you are. The game is to play well. You have done so./ A low moan erupted from Gregor as he curled slowly into a ball. Richie rushed over, checking to see if everything was all right. "It hurts, man. God, it hurts," Gregor whispered, crying from the pain. "I gotta leave. The cops are onto me for Felicia's death. They have my description and they know I'm in town. I can't stay. Don't worry. You'll be fine by flight time." Richie left to throw his bag together. By the time he was packed, Gregor was up and limping. "Stop. Take a shower, first. In there, the darkroom." Gregor ordered, pointing at a door in the office. Richie made to argue, but a firm hand and a shake of the head stopped him. "I've done this far longer than you have, Richard. Trust me." When Richie finished showering, Gregor had a different bag packed. He handed him a fresh set of clothes, slacks and a shirt. Richie stepped back into the darkroom to change. "I hope they fit. You're a little taller and stockier, but I bought them big." "They'll be ripped to shreds as I ride." "You'll be taking my car." Richie returned, a look of befuddlement on his face. Gregor handed him a jacket and explained. "You cannot ride a motorcycle in this weather. I'll report it stolen when I get back from New York. Drive south, to El Paso. Dump the car and cross the border on foot. Try at eight a.m. and five in the afternoon. Find the busiest bridge over the Rio Grande. Once you're in Juarez, get a bus to Mexico City. Find Juanita's Canteen, and tell them 'Doc' sent you. Wait for my call." He handed the new bag to Richie. "Inside is five thousand dollars. Convert it to pesos. I'll take care of the bike and your sword. Now go." " My sword? I need it." "They don't let armed murderers cross the border nowadays. If you run into an Immortal, keep running. You don't have much of a choice." "I can't take this." "You must. If you get tired, stop at a motel." "Thank you for helping me, Greg." "Thank you for sticking by me. Now, go. It will be dawn soon, and you need to be out of the city." As they looked at each other, neither wanting to voice a goodbye, Richie finally fell apart. His hands started to shake as he gulped in air. "Oh Greg, what have I been doing?" The events of the past ten days flooded his mind - Mako's and Felicia's deaths, Duncan's biter dismissal, Xavier's attack. It was too much for him to absorb. So much had changed. It felt like nothing was the same. He looked at the other Immortal, eyes pleading. "Do you ever learn to cope? Come to terms with...?" Gregor grabbed Richie's face in his hands, his words low and soothing. He was a rock of aged wisdom against the storm of youth. "One day at a time, my friend." He wrapped his arms around the trembling youngster, holding him until the shaking stopped. Once again, the photographer looked at his visitor, hands on his shoulders. "You must go. Godspeed and safe journey." With the ritualistic sounding phase, he pushed Richie away, and quickly turned to his own packing. Richie, not knowing what else to say, simply left, his eyes misting over again. - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - Inside the store, sure that Richie had driven away, Gregory let his hands finally shake. Moving so that his back was braced against one of the brick walls in his office, he let the tremors envelop his body. "May the Goddess protect you. Oh, God, it's starting all over. Please don't make me go through this again. I can't..." He let the tears flow as he slowly sank to the floor, covering his face with his hands... < < < < < ...on her body when the door burst open. He turned, finding himself face to face with his friend, the husband of the woman he was currently bedding. Gregor was knocked off the bed by a solid fist, while his lord bellowed curses on the pair's head for their indiscretion. Off stormed the king, Gregor's world shattered by his betrayal. His lady love made her choice, and followed her mate from the room, not once looking back. He fled that night, pausing only to gathering the clothes he could wear. The storm howled as he rode through the woods, giving the castle one last look as the... > > > > > ...thunder and lightning bellowed in reply. The electricity failed, leaving the sobbing Immortal alone in the dark, remembering times he thought he had left behind. * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * Continued Tomorrow... And again, very special thanks to Claire! =========================================================================