Date: Fri, 1 Jul 1994 21:06:47 -0600 Reply-To: Highlander TV show stories Sender: Highlander TV show stories From: Richard Carter Subject: Is There Something... (3 of 4) Although he could have used a shower, Duncan felt very refreshed as he sat on his couch. He took his sword in one hand and examined it closely, almost reverently. Although it bore the scars of battle, the blade had an edge that any razor company would envy. His free hand took up a cloth, and he began polishing the steel. This time of relaxation and contemplation was interrupted by the ringing of the phone. "Hello?" "Duncan?" said a woman's voice. It took a moment before he realized that it was Tessa. She didn't sound right. Of course...! She found Michele's body. He'd forgotten that Tessa was probably going to be the one to find it. Damn! "Tessa? What's wrong?" "Michele is dead. Um-- the police are here, and they want to you come down and answer some questions." "I'll be right there," Duncan said, and hung up the phone. First things first, though. A quick shower and then he'd go to the murder site. Duncan parked his car, quite illegally, about a block from the gallery. He would have liked to have parked closer, but the crowd around the store's entrance prevented it. He left his trench coat and sword in the car -- with the number of people around, he was certain that he wouldn't be attacked. The short walk to the gallery helped Duncan's hair dry a bit. It was hanging loose in stringy tendrils wanting a stroke or two from a comb. The crowd in front of the gallery was difficult to push through. It wasn't until he pushed aside a rather nondescript man whose face sported a mustache, as well as a surprised expression, that Duncan was able to see the police inside with the beautiful blonde woman who'd caught his attention just a few days earlier. "Duncan!" she called. It had been a hard morning for Tessa. Even though she didn't know Duncan well, he was familiar, and more importantly, he was here. She found some small comfort feeling the warmth of his muscled body against hers. "What's going on? Are you ok?" he asked? "Someone cut off Michele's head. It was just lying --," Tessa gestured at the pool of dried blood on the gallery carpet. "Why?" Duncan held her closer to him as the detective walked up to him and said in thickly accented English, "You are Duncan MacLeod?" "Yes." "I am Inspector Darceau. I have some questions for you." "Certainly." "At what time did you leave here last night?" "I don't know. It was getting dark, I suppose a little after sundown." "And did you see Monsieur Toussaint before you left?" "Not really. I was on the phone in his office. He came in and told me he was going to lock up, and that I should leave out the back. I didn't see him after that." "You just left?" "That's right. I met Tessa at the cafe down the block." "_Oui_. May I borrow your shoe?" "Excuse me?" Duncan said with a very surprised look on his face. "I will only need it for a moment." Duncan assumed that they were going to compare his shoe with the footprints that were very apparent on the carpet. All things considered, he preferred to avoid the police, and didn't much care for helping them out. Unfortunately, this was one time when it seemed that the best way of getting the constabulary out of his life was to cooperate. He handed detective Darceau his right shoe. "Here," Duncan said. Darceau took it and replied, "Excuse me for a moment." The inspector went over to his forensic team and they started comparing the size of Duncan's shoe to the daintier footprints on the carpet. Tessa looked up at Duncan, "Who could have done something like this?" Duncan's attention was more focused on what the police were doing, and could only manage an impassive, "It's a crazy world." Inspector Darceau, looking rather disappointed, returned with Duncan's shoe. "Thank you. I would like to have your phone number and address in case we need to contact you again, but you and Miss Noel are free to go." Duncan retrieved his shoe, and then fished a business card from his shirt pocket. "Thank you, inspector. I can be reached at these numbers." Darceau took the offered card, and with only a nod of his head he went back to his minions. "I'm so tired," Tessa sighed. "Maybe I should take you home," Duncan offered as he slipped his shoe back on. "No. I have to stay to lock up after the police are finished." "I could do that," Duncan offered. The caring in his eyes made Tessa want to accept his offer. She felt so drained. Duncan at least felt like a safe port. But no matter how much she wanted to trust him, she couldn't in good conscience accept his offer. "No. The gallery is my responsibility." "I understand," Duncan replied. "Would you mind if I waited around until you're ready to go home? I'd feel better." "Thank you." Tessa was feeling uncomfortable being the target of so much attention. She just wanted some time to think. "I should call my father. He'll want to know. Michele was like a son to him." "Sure," Duncan said. He stayed where he was while Tessa numbly walked back to the office. Over the years, Duncan had gotten somewhat indifferent at the sight of violent death. Tessa made him see it with new eyes, and he could remember a time when he was sickened by a death like this as much as the blonde woman was who had just disappeared down the hallway. He remembered back to the year 1611. He was only nineteen, and was off to join the rest of the men of the Clan MacLeod to fight another clan for control of a lush pasture that neither group was willing to share. Though the morning fog still clung to the ground, the battle began as soon as both clans had assembled. Duncan killed his first man that day. After he saw the look of anguish, fear, and disappointment on his victim's face, he wandered away from the fighting and regurgitated the cold left-over stew from the previous night that had served as breakfast. The Clan MacLeod was victorious that day, and Duncan emerged with only a small cut on his left arm. As the next few years rolled by he fought in more battles. Soon, the sight of death meant little to him. He was a highland warrior, and he expected that he would be until the day he died. * * * Tessa tried relaxing on her sofa, but no amount of contortion allowed her a position of comfort. She couldn't prevent the image of Michele's head from invading her mind's eye. Her body felt calmer than it did at the gallery. It remembered the hug, and the quick and gentle kiss, that Duncan had left her with after he'd escorted her home. He seemed to know when she needed company, and when she needed to be alone. He didn't even ask to stay, as if he knew that she needed time to reflect. She felt so restless. It seemed like the only way she was ever going to relax was if she could just go away and pretend this was all just a bad movie. Maybe just getting out would help. A walk in the cool night air. If nothing else, maybe it would make her body as tired as her mind felt. Then she might be able to go to sleep. Duncan knew there was an Immortal nearby. He felt the same autonomic signal that he had at the gallery last night. This time he was prepared. He had his sword, although it wasn't yet drawn. All day long he had the intuition that he was being followed. If that was indeed the case, then he figured that he might as well meet his opponent in an area suitable enough for the battle to come. Duncan scanned the immediate area. He found himself standing in a small park not far from Tessa's apartment. This city oasis was well suited to the duel. It wasn't well populated at this time of night, which was important because the matters of Immortals weren't the concern of mortal eyes. Thus, it was better if "ordinary people" didn't know what was likely to occur here. The park wasn't well lit, but it wasn't dreadfully dark, either. There were also enough tables, benches, and trees to serve as useful obstacles, but not so many that they hindered. All-in-all, it was a good place to fight. "So, MacLeod, are you going to run away this time, or are you going to stay and fight?" Duncan turned. Traynor Kent was leaning on a tree, cleaning his finger nails with the point of his rapier. "Which would you prefer?" Duncan asked? "I'd prefer that you just let me take your head, but we both know that's not going to happen." "No." "Then I guess we fight." "Guess so," Duncan said as he brought out his sword with a flourish. The carved-dragon-head hilt fit perfectly in his hand. At times, in the past, this sword had been his only friend. Traynor moved away from the tree he'd been leaning on. With much less style than Duncan had exhibited, he gripped his sword and saluted his opponent. Duncan shifted his position from a one- handed grip of the sword held high and pointed at Traynor, to a two-handed grip of the sword in front, angled up and to the left. Traynor adopted a more classic European stance with his arm relaxed, elbow bent, and the sword held nearly horizontal and pointed at Duncan. The two men slowly circled each other. Each was careful to keep his weight evenly distributed between both feet so that it was as easy to defend as to attack. Duncan swung his sword into a new position. Traynor almost went for the movement, but he'd fought a couple of immortals previously who had been schooled in the Eastern styles of sword fighting. The deceptions were both more blatant and more subtle. Duncan's execution of the move was superior to any he'd seen first-hand. Maybe it wasn't going to be quite as easy as he thought when he first considered going after this MacLeod's head. Duncan feinted again, this time Traynor made a move in return. Duncan immediately countered to achieve the advantage. Instead, Traynor whipped around and managed to trim off a lock of MacLeod's hair and nick the top of the Scots' left ear. Duncan couldn't have been more surprised. He felt the warm trickle of blood behind his ear. Traynor didn't look to have that kind of skill. It might have been luck, Duncan had to admit to himself, but he couldn't take the chance. While his opponent's style seemed inexperienced, his eyes looked certain. "Nice move," Duncan offered. "Just a little something I learned a couple of centuries ago." "I'd like to know more. I hate to have to kill you." Traynor lowered his sword and relaxed his guard. "There's no reason why...," and as Duncan was distracted by the casual tone, "I can't just kill you now!" Traynor said as he immediately attacked with control and ferocity. Duncan was completely defensive. Not so much because he was having trouble warding off Kent's attack, but because it was taking a few moments to overcome the shock of having been tricked again. If he wasn't more alert, he'd be dead soon. Tessa was taking a familiar walk down the sidewalk that saw quite a bit of traffic during the daylight hours. She heard what sounded like swordplay. It was coming from the park. This was so unusual and unanticipated that fear wasn't able to find a purchase within her. Instead, curiosity imposed its great pull and she started toward the sound of clashing metal. Traynor felt very confident. Although the Scotsman was very good, and a worthy opponent, there wasn't any way that this man from the Clan MacLeod was going to win. Still, he had heard that his kinsman, Connor MacLeod fought in a similar style, but was more skilled. So, although he much preferred ambushing his victims, Traynor was almost thankful for the practice he was getting. But the fight was starting to grow stale. They'd already be at it for nearly five minutes -- an eternity when compared to most fights which rarely lasted more than two. It was time to relieve Duncan of his head. Duncan knew that the fight wasn't going well for him. He was getting tired, and Kent's eyes looked more confident than they had at the beginning of the battle. "Time to die, MacLeod," Traynor said without a hint of malice or boastfulness; and Duncan knew he was about to lose his head. Traynor stumbled slightly on the neck of a soft-drink bottle half buried in the dirt. Dueling in the dark wasn't always the best choice. Even the greatest sword master could be humbled by a twist of fate. The balance of power shifted from one side to the other by the smallest of missteps. Duncan was able to finally find the opening he had been waiting for, and was able to kick the rapier out of Traynor's hand while he'd been distracted into trying to maintain his balance. Traynor looked a little stunned, and couldn't help an ironic smile as he looked in Duncan's eyes. Tessa was slightly out breath as she came to see the two men standing in the park. One of the men slowly dropped to his knees. The other man lifted a sword, hesitated for a moment, and then decapitated the kneeling man. With the follow-through of the fatal stroke, the killer moved into a beam of light that had cut through the trees, and Tessa was able to see the murderer. It was Duncan MacLeod. Duncan thought he saw some movement near the trees. When he started scanning the area, he noticed Tessa's face. It was wide- eyed with shock and surprise. Seeing that she'd been discovered, Tessa turned and ran. Duncan wanted to go after her, but the sensation of the Quickening, the merging of past lives and experience from one Immortal to another, could be felt starting. He couldn't go after her. Not yet. Not until the process of the transference had run its course. Tessa couldn't believe it. The man she thought she was falling in love with was the killer. He'd killed Michele. It was obvious. She had to stop for a moment to let her stomach relieve itself of some unsettling contents. This was the second decapitation Tessa had seen in less than twenty-four hours. Although most of her life had been spent in France, and much of French history was littered with the heads of miscreants and nobility, nothing had prepared her for the events she'd been made a part of. What was she going to do? She couldn't go home -- he knew where she lived. The police. She'd go to the police first. There had just been a murder after all. "Tessa?" A cold chill ran down her spine. She turned and there was Duncan, with sympathetic eyes that made him look more like a contrite puppy than the swarthy man she'd been with during the last few days -- or the cold-hearted killer she had seen just moments before. "Stay away from me," Tessa said as she backed away -- right into a tree. "Let me explain," Duncan pleaded. Tessa felt like a trapped animal. The tree behind prevented her escape. The anger she was feeling quelled her fear, so the notion of yelling for help didn't find its way onto her internal list of options. "I didn't kill Michele," Duncan said so matter- of-factly that Tessa had to fight hard to remember that this man that she so wanted to believe had just murdered another man. "I don't believe you. I just saw you murder someone." "I know. It's not like how it seems." "Oh, really," Tessa said with venomous irony. "Really. Give me a chance to explain things to you. Then, if you still don't believe me, call the police." Tessa didn't like it. Duncan continued, "We'll need to go someplace private." The hairs on the back of Tessa's neck quickly rose to attention. Even though there was no one to be seen in the vicinity, at least they were out in the open. Duncan could see her unease, and added, "Don't you think that if I had wanted to kill you, that you'd already be dead?" His statement didn't exactly settle her nerves, and her body was still shaking, but he was right. How much worse could her situation be? "Ok," she said, "we'll go to my apartment." "Good." * * * -- CJ cj@rt66.com -or- richard.carter@loebbs.com =========================================================================