========================================================================= Date: Sun, 17 Mar 1996 00:34:35 -0500 Reply-To: Sandra1012@AOL.COM Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Sandra McDonald Subject: Choices After Evil 5/6 Another Immortal was in the dojo. MacLeod felt him or her on his way up the stairs, just as he passed a hastily scribbled sign that said the evening's classes were canceled, and the dojo closed until further notice. He didn't care about the classes. From the doorway he called out, "Richie?" "No, it's Felicia," she said from the office doorway. He strode across the floor angrily. "Where's Richie?" "How should I know?" "Because you set him up with Danny Dieppa. Danny came by here today, looking for you. Said you were his teacher." "You sure you want to discuss this now?" Felicia asked icily. "I want to discuss it with Richie," MacLeod shot back. "I want to know what the hell's going on. If you've tricked him again, I'll take your head myself, I swear." "I didn't do anything to Richie, and Danny Dieppa is dead." "So you say! You don't have any witnesses, do you? Richie was too busy dying to see any Quickenings. What did you do? Set him up from the very beginning? Tell Dieppa where he was, so you could heroically rescue him at the last minute?" "I didn't set Richie up." "You wanted him dead before. You would have killed him!" Eyes blazing, Felicia spat out, "And you raped a housewife, MacLeod. So you tell me which one of us was worse!" "I didn't rape Dominique!" he yelled. "Are you sure?" Felicia snapped. "Did she say no at any time? Did she try and get you to stop, but you wouldn't? Think hard, MacLeod." A small sound made him turn his head. Only then did he realize Holland was in the corner of the office, paralyzed where she stood, her face stark white. She'd backed into her plants on the windowsill, and dirt lay on the floor at her feet and on her white sneakers. "What are you doing here?" he asked, in what he thought was a normal tone of voice. "I'm quitting. I came back for my stuff." Holland looked from Felicia to MacLeod and back again. "What kind of people are you, anyway? Murderers? Rapists? Are you insane?" "No," Felicia said, turning to her, her next words like a very carefully wielded hammer. "We're Immortal. We live forever, until someone takes our heads. We fight and we survive and we kill, because we have to. And you're one of us, but you don't know it yet." Leaving Holland suitably speechless, Felicia turned back to MacLeod. "You listen to me, you stupid Scot. I took Danny Dieppa's head. He was my student once, but it didn't last because I couldn't even go to sleep without worrying about him coming after me with one of his crazy, vicious schemes. Yeah, Felicia Martins met her match in a monster, but I was never as bad as he became. I didn't set Richie up then, and I'm not setting him up now. I don't know who came here today, but if he's done anything to Richie I'll take his head off with a scalpel, inch by inch, to make the bastard pay." "Is that part of the new and improved Felicia?" MacLeod taunted. "It's a promise," Felicia returned. He stared at her. Tried to fathom lies from her face, but she was more sincere and more intense than anyone he could remember. "Then I'll help you," MacLeod said. Tension went out of Felicia's shoulders with a heartfelt sigh. "Richie was supposed to meet me for dinner two hours ago. It's not like him to not show up." "He knew about the Immortal claiming to be Dieppa," MacLeod said. "He was going to go look for you, I think." The phone rang. MacLeod scooped it up. "Yes?" A slurred voice said, "MacLeod, it's Joe. Joe Dawson." "What is it?" MacLeod asked. "Did you find something out?" "No. I need your help." "What's the matter?" "I'm in jail." "Jail?" MacLeod exclaimed. Suddenly the sounds behind Joe - people, printers, iron clangs - became clearer and sharper. "Why are you in jail?" "They say I was drinking and driving. But I know I wasn't. And you know me well enough to know I'd never get behind the wheel of a car drunk." "Joe, you sound drunk now." "That's a terrible thing to say, Duncan MacLeod," Dawson replied indignantly, the words slurring together. "You're supposed to be my friend, right? You're my case. I got fired for you. Yeah, I got fired because the great MacLeod couldn't handle just another Quickening - " MacLeod put the phone to his chest and counted to five so that the furious red growing in his vision would have time to abate. Felicia looked at him inquiringly, and Holland stared at them both with the same incredulity on her face. "Is it Richie?" Felicia asked. "It's Dawson. He's drunk, and he's in jail." "Leave him," Felicia said. "We've got more important things to worry about." "He's ranting about Quickenings in a room full of people." "They're all in the drunk tank." "They're surrounded by police who would be very interested in leads on the curious number of decapitated bodies in this city," MacLeod said firmly. He pulled the phone back up. "Joe, stay put. Someone will be there to pick you up soon." He hung up and looked at Holland. "No way," she said. "I'm leaving. I'm leaving here, and I'm never looking back." "You like Joe," MacLeod said. "He needs our help. He needs someone to go down there, take him home, and throw him in bed until he sobers up. I'll give you the money." "No." "He's not one of us," Felicia put in. "He's a normal guy. If one of us goes, and Richie really is in trouble - hurt, kidnapped, taken prisoner - then Richie's going to suffer. Could you help us out here?" Holland shook her head, although she seemed less certain. "How do I know you haven't hurt Richie yourselves? You talk about people chopping off heads, you got people coming here with guns - you're into drugs, aren't you? All of you. Drug smugglers. I read the papers." "Mrs. Greer. . . Holland," MacLeod said. "Please. Bail Joe out, and we'll explain everything. This is just a really bad time, right now." "No," Holland said. "You explain it now. Because if I leave here, knowing what I know, and go to a police station, I'm going to want to do a lot more than bail out Joe Dawson." The phone interrupted the debate again. "Yes?" MacLeod said when he picked up, half expecting Dawson again. "Still looking for the whore Felicia," a man's voice said. "Except this time, you can tell her I've got her boy toy hanging by his thumbs, begging for mercy." At MacLeod's sudden gesture, Felicia snatched up the extra receiver in the corner. "Who is this?" she demanded. "It would have been Danny boy, but you took care of him, didn't you?" the voice sneered. A cautious look stole over Felicia's expression. "Giovanni?" "The same. You win what's behind door number two. One baby Immortal, ripe for the picking. Weren't you the one who taught Danny to go for the jugular? Rip out your enemy's support, make them so devastated they couldn't think straight? Come on home, Felicia, I miss you." "Where are you?" she growled. "Old Sieger airfield. And bring the big guy with the hair, will you? That way I can keep my eye on both of you. After I take your Quickening, I'll take his." "Old Sieger airfield," Felicia said testily. "I'll be there. You leave Richie alone." "Too late," Giovanni said merrily, and hung up. Felicia turned to MacLeod. "You heard the man." Both Immortals looked to Holland. "What are you going to do to me?" she asked. MacLeod tried to keep his voice from rising in anger. "We're not going to do anything to you. Go bail out Joe, will you? We'll work it all out in the morning." "If we're still alive," Felicia said nastily. "How do you know I won't tell the police or the newspapers?" MacLeod said, "Holland, you know Richie. You know me. You know Joe. Give us a chance to explain everything, when the world isn't crashing in on us, and then decide what you want to do. We're not going to hurt you, okay? We've got more immediate concerns." "Let's go," Felicia said, heading for the door. To Holland she tossed, "Honey, you do what you have to do." MacLeod followed her. Holland didn't try to stop them. They took the Thunderbird and roared east, towards Sieger Airfield. The ride would take at least twenty minutes. Felicia sat tensely in the front seat, her eyes staring out the windshield, her face fixed with anger. "Who's Giovanni?" MacLeod asked. "Danny's old student," she said tightly. "Why does he want revenge on you?" "Because of Danny, probably. They were real close. A pair of Siamese sick bastards." MacLeod risked a glance at her. "I'm sorry I accused you." "I would have accused me too," Felicia answered bitterly. "Why should a person be allowed to change? Why should there even be such a thing as forgiveness, or trust, or new starts?" "You're starting anew. Richie forgave you. That all counts for something." "Not if Giovanni has killed Richie. I swear, if that's what we find, I don't know what I'll do." She was quiet for a mile, her arms folded tightly across her chest, and then she said, "So this is what it's like to have your past thrown into your face. What goes around, comes around." To distract her, to distract himself, MacLeod said, "Tell me what kind of fighter Giovanni is." "A good one. He likes dirty tricks, like Danny did, but mostly he goes after your neck while you're looking at him. Sadistic son of a bitch. Worked in Nazi death camps for fun." That left them in silence for several miles until Felicia said, "About the housewife." MacLeod's fingers tightened on the steering wheel. "Yes?" "Whatever happened, only you and she know. And you don't sound so sure. If you think you were wrong, admit it and make amends." "I don't think that's a good idea at all." "You've got to do it, if you're going to put it to rest. You don't have to go to her. She never has to hear your name again. But you do something for her." "How do you make amends for something like that?" "I don't know. Try. Maybe the trying is part of it." MacLeod didn't answer. The dilapidated hangar Giovanni had appropriated had been vacated for at least a decade, when the airfield had shut down. Weather, vandals, or vagrants had knocked out most of the windows, and spray paint marked the metal walls. Garbage - crushed cans, stray paper, discarded plastic - had blown up against the building. Giovanni had obviously put some effort into his trap, because exterior and interior lights blazed forth across the broken runway like a beacon, drawing them in. There was no need for stealth, no chance to surprise Giovanni. MacLeod parked some distance away, just in case. As they circled warily to the hangar doors they felt the buzz of a third Immortal, but not a fourth. Which probably meant Richie was dead. They walked in with swords drawn. Giovanni stood inside, just a few feet away, leaning lazily against the wall. His sword was at his side, but not up for fighting yet. He said, cheerfully, "So nice of you to come. We like visitors. Don't we, Richie?" MacLeod's eyes went to the horrific sight hanging halfway down the hangar. For a moment, his eyes refused to pass along the information to his newly numb brain. Beside him, Felicia drew in a sharp hiss of breath. "Your lessons, Felicia," Giovanni said. "Something to think about, something to infuriate you, something to make your blood boil. But remember, anger can make you sloppy." Felicia whirled on him with a snarl. "I'm going to rip you to pieces." "Don't be so hasty!" Giovanni chided. "There's more. In about three minutes an incendiary device is going to go off at the top of that chain. You want to get to your boy before he become a Roman candle, MacLeod. Just my little insurance that you won't be tempted to get involved." Felicia swung down on him with a howl of outrage. MacLeod very clearly saw where his responsibility lay. He swung up a ladder half-peeling from the wall and wall and scampered up as fast as he could on its creaking rungs. Once on the catwalk, fifty feet up, he realized the rusty metal was far more treacherous than it looked. He pushed himself forward with the image of it collapsing at any moment beneath his boots. Down below, Felicia and Giovanni seemed match in skill if not strength, but Felicia's fury was putting her at a predictable disadvantage. MacLeod reached the portable winch that Giovanni had hauled up and strapped to the catwalk. A one-inch thick steel chain, shiny new, ran down to where Richie hung by his manacled wrists thirty feet above the floor. He was still dead. His shirt, shoes and socks had disappeared, and his trousers were charred and scorched. Multiple stab wounds in his chest, stomach and back betrayed how Giovanni must have tortured him. A knotted gag in Richie's mouth meant the torture had been for fun, not necessarily information. Felicia wasn't the only who could barely see through rage. MacLeod clamped down on his emotions, compartmentalized them for later use. He had more than enough to think about without gruesome imaginations of what hell Richie had endured. Giovanni's crowning touch had been to soak the winch, chain, and Richie in gasoline. The fumes made MacLeod's eyes tear. Giovanni's comment made more sense now. One misplaced spark, and Richie would become a fireball. Giovanni's 'incendiary device' was a bomb in a neat black package, fixed to the winch's side. No convenient digital timer told MacLeod how much time he had left, but he suspected it was less than half the time he'd started with. He didn't dare turn on the winch for fear of an electrical spark, he couldn't find a way into the bomb case, and he didn't know if he'd been able to deactivate the bomb even if he gained entrance. Felicia cried out below in agony, but MacLeod couldn't spare the time to check on her. He found the emergency release for the spooled chain, hit it, realized it was jammed. He climbed down until he was hanging by his knees, wrapped the chain in his hands, and heaved. Once, twice, three times. Without warning the tension surrendered, and the chain unspooled wildly. Richie's corpse went crashing to the concrete below. Pausing only to lift his head, MacLeod dropped from his awkward position. He knew he might crack open his skull, but risked it anyway. Twisting in mid-fall, he landed on his feet. Both of his ankles shattered, along with his left tibia. The momentum of his fall kept him crumpling forward, banging his right elbow against the concrete, slamming his head with a solid thump. Agony spiraled up both legs to the base of his spine and then up through his brain like a harpoon. It hurt, it hurt, it hurt. But he dragged himself up on his good arm, and inched forward to where Richie lay broken and lifeless. Felicia and Giovanni were still fighting. MacLeod dizzily tried to focus on the battle the sound of their swords clashing disappeared into a whoosh of fire that flared up on the catwalk and then blew into an explosion of screeching metal and collapsing beams. He had no time to drag Richie to safety, and wouldn't have had the strength if he tried. Instead he flung himself over the cold body, protecting it from a shower of flame. The catwalk came careening down, and with a deafening roar it smashed onto the floor only a few feet away from MacLeod's head. Half the lights had gone in the explosion, and the other half now flickered erratically as MacLeod pulled himself up. His coat was smoldering. He peeled it off, and used it and his bare hands to stomp out flames threatening to get too close. Nothing in the hangar was built to burn, though, and after the initial gasoline film was gone, the fire quickly died. Acrid smoke still hung in the air, though, nearly blinding him, coating his throat with an awful taste. He staggered to his knees in time to see that Giovanni had beaten Felicia to the ground. She was bleeding profusely from horrible wounds on both shoulders and her stomach. How she was managing to stay conscious was a mystery. Giovanni raised his sword to lop off her head but a shadow behind him broke free of other darkness and yelled, "No!" Holland must have followed them. She had an ancient pistol clutched between her two shaking hands and she brought it to bear on Giovanni's chest. MacLeod managed to get up to his healing ankles, but they gave way beneath his weight. He would never be able to stop what was coming, but yelled, "Holland, no!" She didn't even look his way as she said to Giovanni, "Drop your sword. Now!" He turned to her with a lecherous grin. "Join us," he said, and moved towards her. Holland fired. The bullet didn't stop him. She fired again. Giovanni ran his sword through her chest. Then turned and found that his moment of distraction had cost him the time Felicia needed to regain her strength. She rose up, her body still profusely bleeding, and with a scream stabbed him in the heart. Giovanni fell. Felicia swayed badly, but kept her stance. A horrible gurgling ripped from Holland's mouth as blood boiled up from the hole in her chest. She clawed frantically at the ground, then heaved with a convulsive shudder and died. For what felt like a long time, MacLeod knelt in exhausted shock as the adrenaline in his system flushed away and his body healed itself. Felicia came to him, clutching her side, and gazed at Richie's lifeless body. The hangar lay in shambles around them. "He still has his head," MacLeod murmured, as a comfort. Felicia nodded, although the empty, drained look on her face didn't ease. "Take care of him for me, will you, MacLeod?" "Where are you going?" he scowled. "I'm not going, I'm staying. To finish this, when Giovanni wakes up." MacLeod struggled to his feet. This time, he stayed up. "He just nearly killed you. Leave him. Save it for another day." She shook her head. "And let him do this again? To Richie? To anyone else close to me?" "Then let me do it. I have a score to settle with him now, too." "You don't give up, do you? Forget it. This is my battle. Take Richie somewhere safe. Plus, you've got her on your hands." Felicia gestured to Holland. Already the song of her Immortality was easing its way into MacLeod's mind. He gazed at her stirring body, but couldn't even begin to contemplate what to do with her. Giovanni was still dead, but his injury had been simple and he'd probably revive soon. There was no telling how long Richie would remain as he was - his injuries had been much more severe, from both Giovanni's torture and the thirty-foot drop to the floor. MacLeod went to Holland and helped her sit up. "What's that noise?" she complained, sounding disoriented and confused. She put her hands over her ears, then shook her head. "It's not a noise," MacLeod said. "You're just sensing the rest of us. Do you remember what happened?" Holland peered at the rip in her sweater and the wet blood surrounding it. "I thought I . . . died." "You did," MacLeod said. "But now you're alive. We've got to get out of here. I need you to help me with Richie." Felicia was still too busy mending to be of much help, and needed to keep an eye on Giovanni. She did fish through the man's pockets to find the keys to Richie's manacles. MacLeod and Holland carried Richie to the back seat of the Thunderbird and covered him with a blanket. MacLeod returned to retrieve Richie's sword from where Giovanni had stashed it against the wall, and to gaze at the Italian's crumpled form. He looked at Felicia. She shook her head. "It's all been said. Go, MacLeod. Tell Richie . . . he knows." Dirty, bloody, defiant, she stood in the wreckage with her sword and no visible fear, ready to take Giovanni on again. He realized he'd vastly underestimated her not just once, but twice. "I'll see you at the dojo when you're done," he said to her now. Felicia didn't answer. end of part five