Date: Tue, 20 Jun 1995 16:34:18 -600 Reply-To: "Jason R. Tippitt" Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: "Jason R. Tippitt" Subject: "Here There Be Demons" Ch.1 X-cc: Sarah Smith , Elizabeth Donald , Haydee Viardo A few people have asked me about when the next chapter of "In the End..." was coming; here it is! Before I continue with this story, though, the next item I'm sending out will be a cast of characters for this whole storyline. I know some people on this list aren't familiar with a whole lot of DC characters, or haven't seen the episodes with Carl and Gregor...and I've got other readers who aren't too well-versed on HL mythos, so that will help everyone keep score. Anyway, hope you enjoy the next few chapters...those will be followed by "House of Cards," where I'll tie it all together. There's a method to my madness, I swear... Thanks, Jason ****************************************************************************** " I N T H E E N D . . . " ****************************************************************************** A Highlander/Batman Tale of the Future Jason R. Tippitt, 1994-95 http://www.utm.edu/~jtippitt/j.shtml Warning: Violence and Profanities Comments, suggestions, constructive criticism, questions, back-chapter requests to JTippitt@Utm.Edu Book 3: "Here There Be Demons" Chapter 1 ******* Wolfen looked around DeSalvo's gym. Empty. He'd broken in shortly after the police had left. It seemed Duncan MacLeod had been shot in the head downtown. The police thought he was dead, although his body (and the ambulance carrying it) had vanished in the confusion following the bombing in midtown a week ago. No sign of either had been found. Big surprise there. Wolfen hoped MacLeod would show up. He desperately needed to talk to him--Rumor was MacLeod had killed Garrick, and if that was true, he might be able to use Garrick's powers to help him out of his predicament. The tall albino slumped into a chair in MacLeod's office. A photo of the Immortal with his kinsman Connor hung above the desk. On the desk, a photo of Duncan with the thief Amanda. From the look on his face, she had grabbed his ass right before the photographer clicked the button--that seemed an Amanda thing to do--Duncan had a look of shock and embarrassment that Wolfen might have found amusing if things weren't so dire. He rummaged through the desk. The calendar was clear of any obvious travel plans, at least right away...he'd marked a departure date for Edinburgh three weeks from now, but that was all. "Damn." "Can I help you?" a hesitant voice asked from the doorway. Wolfen turned to look at the newcomer. He was a handsome black man of medium size, light in skin tone, greying at the temples. "The name's Charlie DeSalvo; I've just come back into the country to settle MacLeod's affairs." Not an Immortal. "This gym is named after you? You and MacLeod were close, then?" "I hadn't seen him in over ten years, actually. He bought the place from me and kept me on as manager until I...went abroad. I was shocked as hell to find out he'd given me power of attorney. [Better play the fool here.] "Power of attorney? He is dead, then?" "Yes. Are you here on a business matter?" "No...more a personal affair. Something only MacLeod would have known about." "Ah. Sorry, I can't be of help, there." Wolfen felt his head beginning to pound. "Well, I will take no more of your time. Thank you for your time." "Can I take your name...in case I find any papers marked for you?" "I doubt you will. We had never met." Wolfen stepped quickly out of the dojo before it was too late. Charlie shook his head. The albino was Strange...that capital "S" kind of Strange that always seemed to hover around anything connected to Mac. European accent of some sort. "Wouldn't surprise me to see Mac come walking through that door any second," he mumbled, sitting at the desk. ******* Wolfen slumped behind the wheel of his car. [Damn you, Zhimandi, give me some peace for once. I need to think.] [Murder? Death is what you deserved, hiring yourself out as an assassin. Why aren't you bothering *him* instead?] Wolfen started the car up. "I'm not listening to you, Zhimandi. I do not know why you're in my head, but I will not let you ruin my life." "I will face that when someone comes for me. In case you did not notice, *I* do not go out looking for trouble. And I have outlived you because of it." "Shut up. I have no more patience for you than when we were young." His twin's voice quieted for the moment. Wolfen headed back to the hotel to pick up Elliot and head back home. The art deal had fallen through, and now this... Wolfen had felt it late last night: the sudden surge of his twin's memories and personality into his own mind. He'd gained none of his power--that had gone to Senator Robinson. It must be true what they said about twins, then...he'd had flashes of hs brother's life ever since they'd parted back in the old country, felt the pain of every one of his brother's temporary deaths, the adrenaline rush of every victory his brother had won. But *this*...this was unprecedented. They were the only Immortal twins he knew of, but for his brother's Quickening and spirit to split and head in two opposite directions...that was just damn *weird*. He pulled his car into the parking lot of his hotel and killed the lights. There was a police car out front. A chalk outline on the ground near the entrance. Suddenly, he felt like he might vomit. Wolfen walked to the front of the hotel, where he was stopped by a police detective in a long tan trenchcoat. "Are you Wolfen Kohn?" "Yes...what is wrong?" "My name is Detective Morris, and I'm afraid I've got bad news for you," the detective said. "Why don't you come inside for a moment?" Morris got a cup of coffee for Wolfgang. "Twenty minutes ago we received a call from hotel security. Your...travelling companion had called the desk, said he had been stabbed. En route to the room, the guard encountered a man with a bloody knife. The guard pursued this man to the lobby and out into the parking lot, where the suspect drew a gun--a tazer, actually, but it happened too fast to tell--and--" "What are you saying? Is Elliot dead?" "I'm afraid so, sir. The guard did all he could, but it was straight to the heart." Wolfen felt his head start to swim. He leaned forward. "God...Elliot..." [Shut up, I'm warning you--] His brother's presence smugly retreated back into the corner where it had been lurking. "--see if you can ID the suspect's body?" Wolfen looked up. "Excuse me?" "Both bodies have been taken to the coroner's office. We've got a tentative ID on Mr. Sims, but we need the confirmation of someone close to him. Paperwork, basically. And you can look at the suspect too, see if it's someone you knew." "I will go," he said haltingly. The morgue was only a couple of blocks away. Wolfen spent the time staring out the window at the rain-soaked streets. They showed him the murderer's body first. He was a stranger. However, Wolfen spotted a dark blue tattoo on the man's wrist... [That looks familiar...where have I seen that, Zhimandi?] [You cannot say I did not ask nicely first. You forced this.] Wolfen pushed into his brother's mind, peeling it apart like pages in a book. ======= "Zhimandi Kohn?" The scarred Immortal looked up at his contact. "No one else is raising his hand, so I guess that must be me, eh?" He looked the mortal over. Dark grey sportcoat, black shirt and pants. He had a strange blue tattoo on his wrist--sort of a "v" shape surrounded by a ring. "Nice tattoo." The other man set his briefcase next to Zhimandi's. A perfect match. "Everything's as you specified." "I expected no less." "Enjoy your trip to Washington." "It's what they pay me the big bucks for." The man stood, picked up the empty briefcase, walked off. Zhimandi finished off his Pepsi and walked to his plane. He'd sent a sword ahead a week before, part of his business as an antique dealer. ======= "You okay, sir?" Morris asked. "Thanks." "Did you recognize the suspect?" "No. I had never seen him before." The coroner led him to the next slab. "Are you ready?" "I suppose I shall have to be." Wolfen closed his eyes, took a deep breath, opened his eyes. Elliot's skin had begun to turn blue. His eyes were shut, his mouth closed in a flat line. He had been shaving when it happened--part of his face was covered with fine black stubble, the rest was smooth. "Yes, that is Elliot Sims." Wolfen reached a hand out, found the wall, leaned against it, eyes closed. The coroner patted him on the shoulder. "Mr. Sims didn't for suffer very long." "What a comfort." He opened his eyes again. Elliot's body had, thankfully, been covered back up. [Take over.] [I can't do this any more. Get us out of here.] "Do you know any reason anyone might have to want to murder you or Mr. Sims?" "He was one of the most vocal gay-rights advocates around. He had lots of enemies. Try some of the Bible-thumpers or something." Morris looked up at him from his notepad. He seemed to sense something was amiss. He scribbled the information down. "Is there a place where I can reached you in case we have any further questions?" Zhimandi gave him his brother's home address and phone number. "Elliot and I were about to head back to San Francisco," he commented. "I was in town for an art deal, but it fell through." "Ah, you're a dealer?" "More a collecter." Morris stood. "My condolences, Mr. Kohn. If we find anything, I'll let you know. But I suspect it's just a routine B&E that got a little out of hand...My gut tells me a political assassination probably would have happened out in public somewhere. Probably a junkie or some waste like that." "Yeah, we got all kinds of sickos running around," Morris' partner, who'd been silent the whole time, commented. Morris shot him an evil glare and ushered him out, throwing one last sympathetic look Wolfen's way as they walked out of sight. Zhimandi walked back to the hotel. A mugger jumped on him halfway there. Zhimandi threw the thug into an alley and pounced in after him. "You little shit!" The mugger looked at him for a moment. He pulled out a switchblade. "Go ahead--attack me. You don't *know* how happy a man I'd be." The man ran away. Zhimandi got back to the hotel without further incident. [No. Let's just leave.] Zhimandi got behind the wheel and started the car. [So, what did you know about the people who hired you?] Without even being asked, Zhimandi held forward from his memory the face of the man who'd contacted him. A tall, thin man with a goatee, dressed in green. Asian accent. Zhimandi pulled out onto the freeway and locked on the cruise control. No good getting a speeding ticket leaving town right after a murder. Then he relinquished control back to his brother. Wolfen turned the radio on and found the local classical station. He wiped a tear from his eye and started thinking about what he knew so far. This whole setup seemed *wrong*, somehow. The pieces didn't add up. If they were looking for Wolfen, why would they send a mortal to kill him? It had happened before, but this made no sense. He wasn't a threat to anyone. Unless they wanted his Quickening out of the "pool"--he had never met another openly gay Immortal. Could be Zhimandi's boss, whoever he was, was afraid that a gay Immortal's Quickening would make him somehow weaker if he received it. Immortals were a lot of things, but smarter than the average human wasn't necessarily one of them. An Immortal using mortal spies to keep track of other Immortals. It would make his movements a lot harder to detect, and he would know when and where to make his attacks...or have them made. Wolfen turned the heat on...it was cold, or at least *he* was. [True, brother--very true.] Wolfen sighed. That last exchange with his brother was almost...civil. *That* was certainly unexpected. ******* To be Continued... =========================================================================