Date: Fri, 17 Nov 1995 11:06:04 -0600 Reply-To: Julia Kosatka Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Julia Kosatka Subject: In the Dark, 1/21 (REPOST) ADULT WARNING! THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! WARNING! THIS STORY IS NC-17 Rated! This version of "In the Dark" contains SEX, written in loving detail. If that bothers you, either do NOT read this story, or go hunt down the PG-13 version, which is available from the HL-Fiction archive. If you're underage, get parental permission to read it. Don't flame us if you're silly enough to go ahead and read it after we warned you, and then get offended by it. This version was written after we got enough complaints that the first version didn't have any sex it it. :-) Note that only the second half (the futuristic section) has changed from the original version. The X-Files is a trademark of Fox Television, characters not used by permission. Highlander is a trademark of Rysher Entertainment, characters not used by permission. Star Trek: The Next Generation is a trademark of Paramount, Inc., characters not used by permission. (Whew! That's a lot of disclaiming!) In the Dark was written during the summer of 1995, between Season 2 & 3 of The X-Files, and Seasons 3 & 4 of Highlander. Anything which occurs in future episodes of these programs may substantially impact the continuity of this story, unfortunately, there's not a thing we can do about it. NOTE: This is a story in two parts... or perhaps more properly it is two stories connected by a couple of common threads. After we finished it and ran it through our "beta test" audience, we had several comments on the difference in pacing between the two sections. We scratched our heads and thought about what the problem might be, until we realized that there was no problem, there was just a difference. The major drawback to writing crossovers isn't meshing universes, that's fairly simple. The hard part is blending styles. The X-Files, and Highlander, for example, are heavily plot-driven. TNG, on the other hand, was often completely character- driven, with plot taking a backseat. Neither is better or worse by definition, merely different. At any rate, we feel that we've succeeded in dealing with those differences and hope that you do as well. Kellie Matthews-Simmons Julia Kosatka C. 1995 JEK & KMS -------------------------------------------------------------------------- In The Dark c. 1995 Kellie Matthews-Simmons & Julia Kosatka Joe Dawson wiped the long wooden surface of the bar, trying unobtrusively to observe the woman who had come in with the sax player. She was a black woman of moderate height and curvaceous build, not stunningly beautiful, but rather compelling in a way. She wore her hair in a myriad of long, narrow braids that were too neat to be dreadlocks. Her voice was low and throaty, and held a mischievous tone. When she laughed it was full-bodied and without reservation. She looked to be in her early thirties, but he knew from long experience that looks could be deceiving. The maddening thing was that he recognized her... almost. He knew he'd seen her somewhere before, but he couldn't for the life of him remember where. Almost as if she sensed his gaze, she turned and looked at him, then stood and walked toward the counter. He let his gaze range past her to the band and didn't return his attention to her until she was leaning against the bar. "Can I help you?" he asked, businesslike. "Would I be here if you couldn't?" she queried in an amused voice. "What can you make me that I've never had before?" He focused on her more fully. "Now that's an interesting question." Her generous mouth curved in a Mona-Lisa smile. "I like to challenge my bartenders." "I'd say so." Joe surveyed his stock of liquor critically, then snapped his fingers. "Got it! How high is your tolerance for alcohol?" "Higher than yours, I'd wager." He chuckled. "You'd be right, I'm a cheap drunk. Have you got someone who can drive you home, just in case?" "I do." "Good." Taking a selection of little-used bottles from the back of the bar and some more common ones from the front, he proceeded to create a drink he hadn't made in twenty years. It took two tries, and nearly fifteen minutes before he got it right. Finally, he turned and set the glass in front of her. She studied it carefully, checking off each layer from bottom to top. Red, orange, yellow, green, a dark blue, then a layer that was almost violet; she looked up, one almost non-existent eyebrow raised. "Impressive. What's it called?" "That, my friend, is a `Killer Rainbow.'" "Appropriate name, but is it drinkable?" "I'll let you be the judge of that." "Am I supposed to mix them together?" He shook his head and handed her a thin straw. "Nope. Your job is to try to get the straw into the glass without disturbing the layers, and then to drink it one layer at a time." She took the straw, and stood for a moment, obviously analyzing the best route to take. Finally she put the straw into the first layer, slowly easing it down until the end of the straw rested against the bottom of the glass. She looked up, triumphantly. He smiled encouragingly, and she settled herself onto a barstool and leaned over the counter, elbows resting on either side of the glass, looking for all the world like a kid at a soda fountain. She steadied the straw in her fingers, and started to drink. The bottom layer slowly disappeared, then she stopped to catch her breath. Joe waited a moment, then spoke. "Now you have to tell me what's in each layer." "Whaaat?" She sputtered indignantly. "Now, wait just a minute, that wasn't part of the deal!" "If you can tell me what's in it, it's free," Joe said, coaxingly. That seemed to mollify her. She sat back, studied the drink, and nodded. "Okay, you're on! The red layer was cherry heering." "Very good. Go on, but no looking at the bottles!" She leaned forward and drew on the straw again until the next layer had disappeared. "Hmmm... could be Grand Marnier, but I don't think so... it's too dark... I know! Mandarin Napoleon!" "You're two for two. Keep going." She worked her way through Benedictine and Midori, got hung up for a few minutes on the Blue Curacao, only to be completely baffled by the last layer. "Mister, I thought I knew every liqueur on the planet, but I gotta admit, this one's got me stumped The damned stuff tastes like flowers smell. How much do I owe you?" "It's Joe." She looked puzzled. "The purple stuff is called joe?" He chuckled. "No, I'm Joe, Joe Dawson, not `mister.'" He held out his hand. She shook it firmly, without hesitation. "Guinan." He waited a moment, but when no second name was forthcoming, he nodded. "Nice to meet you, Guinan. Now, I guess I should fess up that this wasn't an entirely fair contest." "Oh? Why is that?" "Because, you wouldn't know that last one unless you were friends with a friend of mine. He has it specially made from an old family recipe, and the only reason I have it here at all is because he occasionally likes a shot. It's called Violette, and he swears it really is made from violets. And the drink is on the house, I haven't had this much fun in ages." Guinan looked at him skeptically, one corner of her mouth lifting in a quirky smile. "You should get out more." Joe laughed out loud, and nodded. "Touche!" Guinan looked over her shoulder suddenly, and stood up. "Danny's looking for me. I'll catch you later." "I hope so." Joe said, with utter sincerity. As she walked away, he wondered again why she was so damned familiar. It was going to drive him crazy until he remembered. He watched her rejoin her musician friend, and was surprised a moment later when she ascended the stage with them. The band launched into "My Funny Valentine" and she began to sing, her voice warm and intimate, doing a more than creditable job on the song. She was clearly untrained, but her style suited the song and the band. He let his relief bartender take over and settled down at one of the tables to listen, feeling a bit relieved as he realized that was probably why she seemed familiar. He must have seen or heard of her before. **** "Beautiful, isn't it? It shines like a living thing." "Beautiful." "But deadly, as well." "I-- know." "Are you enjoying that?" "Enjoy? No! How could I? You never said I had to!" "It's not necessary, but it adds a certain... something." "I can't believe they never told us it was possible!" "They were afraid that if they told you, too many would seize the chance. Better to let you think we are born, not made." "But they shouldn't have kept it from us. It's not fair that some know, and others don't!" "Why do you think I came to you? I felt you should know." "Thank you. When do we do the next ones?" "Tonight." "So soon?" "It must be so, for the power to fix." "Tonight, then." **** Though the bar had been closed for an hour, Joe was wide-awake from an ill-advised midnight mug of coffee. He sat at his computer, not tallying the night's receipts, but accessing the day's activity reports from other Watchers. Originally he had thought Methos' creation of an electronic mail system for Watchers was a bad idea, but he had to admit, it was damned convenient. And with Methos playing sysadmin and watching the security like a hawk, he was less afraid of its potential misuse than he had once been. After the fiasco in Paris, he was sure Methos was being scrupulously careful. As the roster of familiar names scrolled by on his screen, along with location notes, he suddenly stopped and backed up. Two days earlier Tanner Dane had been spotted in northern California. Automatically Joe reached for the phone, then stopped, shaking his head. It was kind of hard to use the phone when the modem was engaged. Anyway, it was three in the morning, and though he was sure that Duncan would want to know Dane might be in the area, he was equally sure that he wouldn't want to be woken up to hear about it. He finished looking at the reports and logged off, then unlocked the bookcase that held the Chronicles and pulled out the most recent volume on Tanner Dane. Normally Joe relied on his own remarkable memory for details regarding Immortals, but Dane wasn't someone he normally dealt with, and it wouldn't hurt to read up on him if he was heading this way. He sat down in the old armchair he favored, got comfortable, and started to read. Engrossed in the revolting tales of Dane's exploits, he turned a page and sucked in a breath, momentarily stunned. There was a reproduction of a newspaper page from the late 1800's, carrying a story about a beheaded corpse. Dane's Watcher at that time had annotated the page, stating that the victim had been an Immortal named Wen Chiu, and that Dane had taken his head. Little fuss had been made over the death, even one so unusual, of an Asian national in turn-of-the-century San Francisco. That wasn't what held Joe's attention, though. Sharing the page was a cameo-like photograph of a woman in the elaborate dress of the times. He stared at it, stunned, knowing he had faced that same woman across a bar tonight. This was where he'd seen her before! I had been well over a year since he'd last pulled Dane's chronicle, but his mind had retained the image. He even remembered why. He'd thought it unusual to find a socially prominent Black woman mentioned in a turn of the century paper. He read the caption and his consternation grew. "Madame Guinan to Host Literary Reception." Guinan. The same name, the same face, more than a hundred years ago? Impossible! How could she be an Immortal, without the Watchers knowing of her? There were only seven female Immortals, other than those newly-Become, whose faces yet eluded the Watchers. He knew their descriptions by heart. Three were Caucasian, one Asian, two Hispanic, one Native American. None of them were Black, and Guinan would never be mistaken for anything else. He put in the database disk and tried a search on all the known Black female Immortals, thinking he might have forgotten someone. That search proved equally fruitless. None of the photographs he found even vaguely resembled Guinan. He shut down the system and stared at the blank screen, unseeing, disturbed by what he'd found... or not found. Could they have managed to miss someone entirely? Could their efforts be that slipshod? Surely she had trained under someone known, had taken heads... no Immortal could live over a hundred years without doing so, could they? He thought of those rare Immortals who lived their lives on Sacred Ground to avoid having to kill. It was possible, just not probable, and unheard of in one who was not cloistered in some way. Whoever she was, she didn't seem a threat to Duncan or Richie, though it would be a good idea to tell them about her anyway. He had another reason to call Duncan now, to see if he knew her. It had been Joe's experience that there were few Immortal women Duncan didn't know... especially in the biblical sense. He tried picturing them together, and failed. Duncan didn't usually go for the earthy types... or was he just sour grapesing? He chuckled, admitting a twinge of jealousy at his friend's admittedly impressive track-record with women. Of course, he'd had a lot of lifetimes to perfect his technique. He looked at his watch. It was almost five. Three more hours, and he could safely call Duncan. He settled back down with the Chronicle and began to read again. **** "Mulder, I think you need to take a look at this." Fox Mulder looked up from the file he was perusing, and found his petite, red-headed partner standing in front of his desk holding out a folder. He took it, eyebrows lifted. "What is it, Scully?" "Something that looks like it might be up our alley." "Which alley would that be?" "A back one, of course. Just take a look, and tell me what you think." "You know, this is almost a first." "What is?" "You bringing me a case. This is only the second time that I can remember." "Well, maybe that means you'll read it sometime today?" she asked archly. He grinned and settled back, opening the file, eyes narrowing as he paged through the documents in the folder. When he came to the photographs, he sat forward suddenly, his attention firmly caught. Finally he looked up. "Some sort of ritual murders? Cult slayings?" "That was my thought, though as you know, that's extremely rare. Still, you have fifteen corpses scattered across seven states, all beheaded with some sort of sharp metal object. Half the victims have identical tattoos on the left wrist-- that can't be coincidence." "No, it can't. Any records of that tattoo in the cult files?" "Not that any investigation has turned up so far. So, are you interested?" Mulder looked at her as if she'd suggested they strip and make love on the desk. "Is the Pope Catholic? Do we have background files on all the victims?" "Not on all of them, but on several, yes. The oddest thing is, they all seem to be just ordinary people, with a few notable similarities." "Which are?" "They all were self-employed, traveled a great deal, and had income greater than their jobs would seem to warrant." "Interesting. Any connections to organized crime?" She frowned. "I don't know... I hadn't thought of that angle." "We can look into it ourselves. Do you have any idea what the murder weapon was? Axe? Chain-saw?" She repressed a smile, almost. "Nothing's been positively identified, though at least one coroner thinks a sword was used." He did a double-take. "A sword? Maybe it's the ghost of Errol Flynn, taking revenge for colorization... were any of the victims employed by Turner Broadcasting?" Scully didn't even grant him a dirty look. "That's not the only thing that's odd about this case. According to three of the reports, there is evidence of intense electrical activity around some of the corpses." "Electrical activity? Like what?" "Light fixtures blown out, windows shattered, electrical burns on walls and floors. Very weird stuff." "Hang on, this is starting to sound familiar..." Mulder went to the file drawers and began to dig. It took him a few minutes, but finally he found what he was looking for. "Here it is. 1985, New York City. Several homicides, all beheadings accompanied by signs of intense electrical activity, just like you just said. The police investigated a man named Russell Nash, a well-to-do antique dealer, but were never able to gather enough evidence to file charges. Shortly after that, he dropped out of sight, though someone fitting his description was seen not long afterward in Scotland. He has not returned to the U.S., at least not under the same name. Hmmm..." Mulder flipped through the file, then again, more slowly. "Interesting." He dug a box of push-pins out of the desk drawer and retrieved foamcore-mounted map from between two file cabinets. A stippling of holes across its surface showed that it had been used for similar purposes in the past. Balancing it across his knees, he handed the folder to Scully. "I need the names of the cities where the bodies were found, starting with the earliest known incident." Scully nodded. "First incident, Miami, Florida." Mulder placed a pin. "Next?" "Atlanta, Georgia." He placed a second pin, and looked up expectantly. "Shreveport, Louisiana." When all the pins had been placed, there was a clear progression of killings moving across the US from the south-east coast toward west coast, then turning north. The last report was from Reno, Nevada. "Interesting. We should alert law-enforcement in Oregon and Washington. "Why?" He looked up from the map. "Just a hunch. He's been moving toward the West coast, and seems to be going north now. That leaves Oregon and Washington as his most likely next destinations." "He?" Dana questioned him, eyebrows lifted. "Almost all serial killers are male. I wonder what the significance of killing in pairs is, and why he deviated from his pattern in California? Were the victims romantically involved? Married, or otherwise?" "I don't think so. Most of them were same-sex, and then there's that trio in California." "Neither of which means they weren't involved." "True, but the reports would probably have mentioned alternate lifestyles." "If it were known. That's something else we need to check on." "Do you think it's this Nash person?" "It could be. The last known sighting of Nash was in Scotland, Miami has a large international airport with several flights daily from the UK. Nash was also wealthy, and our killer apparently has money, he can afford to fly to find his victims. "Why do you say that?" "Because of the timing. The first and second killings took place only eight hours apart but the killer couldn't have driven from Miami to Atlanta in that short a time, ergo, he flew. Same with the time elapsed between the second and third killing. Also, you may have noticed that most of the killings took place in cities with large airports. We should also check Interpol reports for similar killings." He looked at her, frowning slightly. "Scully, is this our case? Did you clear this with Skinner?" "It's no one's case yet, but I had planned to ask Skinner if he would assign us to it." "Would you? He's a lot more likely to okay a case request from you than he is from me. I'll go up to Travel Accounting and get tickets to Reno. If we're lucky, we can use my frequent flyer upgrades." Scully nodded and left the room, folder in hand. Mulder looked at the map a moment longer, and sighed. "What does it say about me that I can get into these people's heads?" he asked the room at large, not expecting an answer. **** The phone rang, startling Joe awake. He sat up, and the Chronicle he'd been reading fell off his lap onto the floor. He grabbed the phone as he leaned over and picked up the book. "Dawson," he said, squinting at the clock. It was eleven in the morning. So much for calling Duncan first thing. "Joe?" The voice on the other end was teary and female. It took him a moment to place it. "Kaarin? Is that you?" "Yes... Joe, I can't think of how else to tell you this... Tim's dead... it's just awful! Someone took his head, like he was one of Them! I can't believe anyone would do that to him, he never hurt anyone!" He felt as if he'd just fallen through ice into freezing water. "God... no! Kaarin, when did this happen?" "The police say it happened a week ago, but I just now found out. It took them this long to find me, I'd moved since he last put me on any of his `notification' lists, and they hadn't wanted to release the name to the press. I'd read about the killings... but I thought it was Them, it never occurred to me it could be Tim! My God, Joe... why would anyone =========================================================================