=========================================================================
Date:         Thu, 18 Apr 1996 22:06:26 -0400
Reply-To:     JJSWBT@AOL.COM
Sender:       Highlander TV show stories <HLFIC-L@PSUVM.PSU.EDU>
From:         Wendy Tillis <JJSWBT@AOL.COM>
Subject:      Isabel 12/13

Isabel

By: Wendy Tillis  jjswbt@aol.com
Copyright April, 1996

Part Twelve
==============
Duncan and Isabel staggered out of the building and onto the street. It was
fully dark now though it was only about 6:00pm. They made their way down the
street to the T-Bird. Luckily there was no one else on the street as their
appearance would have been hard to explain. Both of their clothes were cut
and bloodstained. Duncan climbed into the driver's side as Isabel collapsed
into the passenger seat. He started the car and headed for home. Duncan was
exhausted and had to concentrate to keep his eyes on the road. He glanced
over at Isabel.  She was leaning against the side of the car, her eyes
closed. Whether she was awake or not was unclear. He thought she was still
awake.

It only took a few minutes to arrive at the dojo. Duncan swung the car into
the alley behind the dojo and parked it. Isabel's eyes opened before the car
came to a complete stop - lending credence to his belief that she had not
fallen asleep. She opened the car door and followed him inside. The rode the
elevator upstairs in silence. Coming through the door, Duncan tossed his coat
at the coat rack and missed. Isabel, right behind him, picked it up and hung
it on a hook. She hung her own up next to it. She painfully pulled the
scabbard over her head and threw the sword and scabbard across the room,
where it hit the wall below the phone and slid to the floor. Duncan jumped at
the sound but didn't say anything. He laid his own sword on the coffee table
and sat down on the sofa. She wandered around the room aimlessly.  After a
few minutes she looked down at her bloody sweater with distaste.

"Duncan. " No answer. "Duncan?"

"Yes?"

"Can I . . can I take a shower?  I'm covered in blood."

Duncan looked down at his own clothes. He seemed to snap back to reality.

"Sure. I think we both need one. You first. I think you can find everything
you need in there."  And he indicated the bathroom.

" Thanks. Um. . .you wouldn't happen to have a T-shirt or something I could
wear? I hate to put these things back on."

"Wait. Let me look."  He started to paw through the bottom drawer of his
armoire. "I think. . . I have some clean ones here."   Suddenly he stopped
and pulled out a long nightshirt. He looked at it with a strange expression
and almost put it back.

" What is it? Duncan?'

He held it out to her. It looked brand new. It was black and on the front in
hot pink letters was emblazoned  "Sooner or later, everyone comes to Joe's"
. She looked at it and looked questioningly at Duncan.

"It was from Joe Dawson. He had a bunch made up as a promotion. He gave me
one because  . . .  because he said I had so many unexpected overnight
guests. I'll find something else."

"No, it's OK. If you don't mind."

"No, I don't mind. He would think it was funny - probably."

Isabel took the nightshirt and headed into the bathroom. A few minutes later
Duncan heard the water start. He had a horrible headache but that didn't stop
him from heading for the liquor.  The whisky was almost gone - the result of
his drinking bout last night. He reached for the tequila - but stopped. He
had bought that for Richie. He looked again and pulled out a full liter of
Jack Daniels. OK. That was fine. He didn't bother to find a glass. Duncan
wandered over to his desk and sat down. He took a long pull on the bottle,
swallowed hard , and pulled open the enameled box where he stored his
photographs. On top, as always , was his favorite photo of Tessa.  Funny -
tonight it didn't hurt to look at it. Maybe because there were so many fresh
hurts to mask it. Below were pictures of Richie - a few from the racing
circuit in France. One of him standing proudly next to a new motorcycle.
There was a picture of Joe snapped by Methos at the Watcher's Christmas party
two years ago. And one of Methos - it was from a distance since he tried hard
to avoid being photographed.  Amanda had taken it in Paris years ago after
the Kalas fiasco. Duncan spread them all out on the desk- plus a few more of
older friends and lovers - all dead now. They were all dead. Everyone but
him. And Connor - maybe. He hadn't heard from Connor in years. All dead. And
he was still alive.  He heard the shower stop and remembered that they
weren't all dead. Isabel was alive.

She came out of the bathroom wearing the night shirt, her hair damp and
loose. It was slightly curly from the steam. The shirt came down to just
above her knees, revealing nice long legs.  She came over to stand beside him
at the desk. Under other circumstances the presence of a pretty woman in
nightshirt standing at his elbow would have caused some reaction in Duncan.
Tonight he was hardly aware of her. Isabel reached for the Jack Daniels
bottle and took it out of his hand.  She took a long drink.

"Duncan. Go on. Take your shower. You'll feel better."

Better? He looked at her as if she was crazy but didn't say anything. He did
get up and go into the bathroom.   The room was steamy from her shower and he
quickly stripped off the slashed and bloody clothing he was wearing. She had
left the bathroom neat. Her clothes folded in a pile lying near the trash
can. The towel straight and folded on the rack. The shampoo bottle put back
exactly where it had been.  "Nuns"  he thought.  He stepped into the shower
and let the water wash the blood away. Of course he was unmarked. He shook
his head. Maybe it would be better if they *did* scar.  Something to force
them to  remember what they did.  Then again, after 400 years, he would look
like an old road map if he carried the marks of all his fights.  The hot
water helped his headache some - if not his spirits. Finally the water
started to cool off  - they must have drained the tank - so he turned it off.
Stepping outside he found a dry towel and wiped the water away. He looked
around for something to wear. And remembered that he hadn't brought any new
clothes into the bath with him. He looked around and located his shorts .
Wouldn't be the first time in his life that he wore the same underwear two
days in a row. But - what else?  Ah! She hadn't taken the bath robe. He put
on the long white terry cloth robe and tied the belt. Duncan ran a comb
through his hair and looked at himself in the mirror. He didn't look any
different but he felt different.  He opened the door and went out.

 She was sitting in the chair with her knees drawn up to her chest and the
nightshirt pulled down to her ankles. Her eyes were closed but she still held
the Jack Daniels bottle firmly in her right hand.  Duncan studied her. If he
looked as tired as she did, they both had better go to bed.  Her eyes opened
as he came closer and she took another drink and held the bottle out to him.
He took it and drank,  then he set the bottle back on the shelf.

"That's enough of that. Why don't you go lie down. I'll stretch out here."
And he indicated the sofa.

Isabel pulled her legs out from under the nightshirt and stood up. She went
over to the bed and then looked back at Duncan.

"This is ridiculous, Duncan. It's a big bed. I think we can share it without
anyone coming to harm, don't you? I'm too tired to ravage you and you're too
tired to take my head."

Duncan's head came up at her all  too accurate summary of their various
mental states. He was still angry at her.  And he was too tired to kill her.
Maybe in the morning.  He came over and stood on the other side of the bed.

" You're right. I think we can manage one night in the same bed."  Together
they pulled back the bedspread, blankets and sheet. They laid down side by
side not touching - both flat on their backs  staring at the ceiling. Both
were asleep before they had time to think about anything.  It was the
middle of the night before their minds had time to accept what had happened.

"Isabel? Are you awake?"

"Yes. What time is it?"

"About 3:00."

"Are you all right?"

"I keep thinking about Etienne. I've never killed anyone like that.  From
hiding. It doesn't feel good."

"Oh Duncan."  She sighed. " I don't think it's supposed to feel good. You
killed a man. It should never feel good to do that.  But - you can live with
it. We all have to."

" But - like that? I cheated. I've never done that before. And I still can't
figure out why I did it. Why now? I've let friends die rather than interfere.
Why did I do it now - for you?'

" Why? I could think of several possibilities. But - I'd say the most likely
is that you never knew you *could* interfere before. You thought that it was
forbidden - that something would either stop you or punish you . When I
killed Methos - you suddenly discovered that it was possible. Then you were
thrust into a situation where you had to make a choice and . .  new instincts
took over.  You saved me . .  in . . .  I don't know. .  . in payment? . . .
for all those times you didn't save the others.  Does that make sense?"

"Some. But. But, I've always had this image of myself. Of what I believed in.
What I *was*!  I really was willing to die rather than dishonor that. Now. ."
He stopped and she could feel him shaking his head.

" Duncan. Dear sweet honorable Duncan. You would have chosen death before
dishonor for *yourself*. You *did* chose death before dishonor.  *I* chose to
over-ride that decision.  I was the one who wouldn't let Methos kill you. You
can't blame yourself for that. As for what you did to save *me* -  for which
I am eternally grateful by the way - don't think of it as cheating. Think of
it as a moment of weakness. One you might never have again. One everyone has
sooner or later - especially if they live as long as our kind do.  You're
*human* MacLeod. Today you just had to admit it."

" Is that supposed to make me feel better."

Isabel was exasperated now. "Duncan! Listen. Time to grow up. You're not
perfect. Damn near close to it but not 100 percent.  You did something you're
not proud of. Sorry. Tough. If this is the first time in 400 years, you've
been more than lucky. Now - why don't you try and get some sleep. You will
feel better in the morning, you know you will."

"That's what I'm afraid of. That I will feel better about it. I don't think I
want to feel better about it."

"You carry too much pain and guilt with you. You should have been a priest.
Let it go, Duncan. Let it go  You're only hurting yourself."

"Maybe that's how I know I'm alive. By the pain."

"Oh, Duncan!" She turned toward him in the bed and put her arms around him.
Not in a sexual embrace, just to hold him. He tensed at her touch but then
relaxed as she simply held him. He turned and buried his head in her shoulder
and was asleep almost instantly.

In the morning he awoke in a tangle of sheets, arms, legs and long dark hair
 only half of which belonged to him.  She was laying on her side facing away
from him. His left leg was on top of her right leg, his arm draped over her
neck, her hair spread out on his pillow. His right arm was trapped underneath
him and was asleep -dead to all feeling - and he had an enormous erection.
"Great" , he thought. "Just great."  He wanted to get up without waking her
but that was going to be tricky. With one dead arm he couldn't get any
leverage. He tried to shift his leg off hers without disturbing her but in
the process she woke and rolled over to face him, her hand accidentally
brushing the front of his shorts as she moved. He gasped involuntarily and
her eyes looked down to see what had caused the gasp. She smiled slightly and
shifted her weight back away from him.  With effort Duncan sat up, the blood
rushing back into his dead arm and causing it to tingle. It wasn't the only
thing tingling.

"Sorry." Duncan sounded embarrassed.

"It's all right Duncan. I've woke up next to men before. It's nothing I
haven't seen before. Don't worry. I know it doesn't mean anything."

Oddly, her dismissal of his 'condition'  - her rejection of even the
*possibility* that he might find her desirable and by implication her
rejection of him as desirable - stung him more than he had imagined.  He had
never seriously thought of her as a possible lover - he thought of her as,
well, a nun.  And after yesterday's events, he wasn't even sure that he liked
her - let alone wanted her. In fact last night he had been considering
killing her   - then why did he wish she hadn't gotten up so quickly?

Isabel went over to the armoire and began to look through the drawers. In a
few minutes she had liberated a pair of jeans and a sweater. She disappeared
into the bathroom and reappeared minutes later wearing his clothes. The
sweater was too long and the jeans were rolled up, but she was decent. She
twisted her hair up on the back of her head and stuck a pencil through it to
hold it in place. She searched around for her shoes and socks and in less
than 10 minutes after she had awoke, she was  ready to leave. Duncan was
still sitting in the middle of the bed.

"You're leaving? Just like that?"

"Just like that. I have to go home Duncan. Sister Michael will have called
Father Matthew and maybe the police. I have to come up with some explanation
of where I was last night. I an still a nun , I have duties,
responsibilities. The Christmas Pageant is next week. I have to get the
costumes for the angels made, I have to see to the last minute decorations. I
have to get to Mass, I. . ."

"Isabel. I think we need to talk. About what happened. About. . .well, a lot
of things."

"Not now, Duncan. Later, some time later. I promise  not to disappear before
Christmas.  We'll have time to talk after that. I don't know what there is
left to say but we'll talk. Just - don't come around for a while OK? Let me
deal with Father Matthew and Sister Michael and everything alone. Please?
Right now - things are too different for us. I'm sad about all the people
that died but I can't help but be glad too. I've been dragging Etienne around
with me like an anchor for so long, I feel relieved, feel free. I have
something good to balance the pain. You - you don't have that balance.
 Nothing good came out of this for you.  You - you've lost a lot of good
friends. You have a right to mourn. "

"If that is what you want."

"It is."  Isabel slung her sword and scabbard over her shoulder like a
backpack and tossed her coat over her shoulder too. At the door she stopped
and looked back. "Don't forget, Duncan. You promised to come to the Pageant."

"I won't forget."

=====

The days after Etienne's death were difficult ones for Duncan. Not only did
he have to deal with the emotional aftermath of losing so many close friends,
he became a suspect in the murders.  Because of his long police file and
because he knew three of the victims well and two more at least casually,
suspicion fell on him as the serial killer. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

 It was Tuesday afternoon, the 16th,  when he noticed the unmarked police car
sitting in the street near the dojo. He kept an eye on it until he was sure
it *was* the police, then he decided it was a good idea to eliminate any
evidence that might link him to the crimes. Duncan gathered all the bloodied
clothing that he and Isabel had worn on Monday and took then to the basement
incinerator. He burned them, standing watch to be sure that the clothing was
consumed, that no half burned scraps remained. Then he went back upstairs.
 He looked at his beloved katana. He had cleaned it well after yesterday's
fight with Methos but he knew that microscopic examination would turn up
traces of Methos blood.  He ought to destroy it but he couldn't bring himself
to do it. Instead,  he hid the katana in a place where the police would never
find it - short of demolishing the building brick by brick. Sooner or late he
could retrieve it.  The police knew he kept swords so he did not attempt to
hide them all. Let them examine any of the others - they wouldn't find the
blood of any of the recent victim.

Wednesday morning there was a knock on the door. It was the police. Three
uniformed officers and two detectives, Franklin and Walters,  stepped into
the loft. They had  search warrant and proceeded to search the loft most
thoroughly. They found the swords he had left there. They also gathered up
coats, shoes and some clothing out of the hamper. As the uniformed officers
searched, the detectives asked Duncan some preliminary questions as to his
whereabouts at the times of the murders. Duncan answered as briefly as
possible. When the search was done, the detectives asked Duncan to accompany
them to the police station for more questioning.  Duncan agreed to talk to
them. He thought about calling his lawyer but decided to wait. He could stop
the interrogation at anytime by asking for his attorney. Maybe it wouldn't
get that far.

The initial questioning was soft and Duncan had no problem coming up with
answers. In fact he simply told the truth. Yes - he knew Richie Ryan and Joe
Dawson, they were good friends. Yes - he knew Adam Pierson, he was an
acquaintance . Yes - he had meet both Allan and Grey Buffalo at the Youth
Center. No, he hadn't killed them.  After that, the questions got trickier.
 The questioning went on hour after hour. Detective Franklin played good cop
to Detective Walters' bad cop. It was an old trick and Duncan didn't fall for
it. Duncan stuck to his story - that he had no idea who had killed the seven
people . The police wanted to know where he was at the time of each killing
and he tried to give them answers. But, living alone as he did, he couldn't
provide witnesses to back up his story and, of course, he had, in truth, been
present at two of the murders.  The detectives, having read his police file,
were sure he was involved.

The police could hold him for 48 hours before charging him - and under
special circumstances could stretch that to 72 hours. By the second day,
Duncan was tired and the police were getting surly. Duncan stood up to the
questioning better than a mortal since he needed less sleep than a mortal but
after 30 hours with little sleep he too was having trouble staying focused.
And he needed to stay focused. He had no wish to end up spending the next 50
years in prison. Thursday afternoon he called Samantha Bailey, his lawyer,
who arrived in short order and demanded he be given a break. The police
backed off some, allowing him time to rest, have something to eat and talk to
Sam before they started another round of questioning.  Still,  it was an
unpleasant experience.

Thursday evening he was sitting in an interrogation room drinking coffee
between questioning sessions when Sam came in.

 " Do you know a Sister Gabriel?"

"Yes. What about her?"

" She called me. The Sister claims that you couldn't have committed the
murders because you were with her - at least during the times five  of the
seven were committed. She says you are protecting her honor. She told me to
tell you it was OK, go ahead and tell the truth. So, Duncan, what's the
truth? Can this woman alibi you?"

Duncan thought fast. Isabel had been with Sister Michael at the time of Ray's
death. She couldn't alibi that one. But - the rest? She said she had been out
on the streets when Grey Buffalo and Sarah Lao died. She was present when
Methos and Etienne died.  She had been home when Richie died. That left Joe.
 She had been out when he died but Sister Michael *knew* that she had come
home almost immediately after Joe had been killed. Was Sister Michael going
to cover for that? Duncan wished he could talk to Isabel and get the story
straight but that wasn't going to happen. He was lucky as it was, at least he
had some clue as to the story she must be telling them.  Duncan looked at his
lawyer who was still waiting for an answer.

" She can alibi me for some of the murders, not all."

" That's OK. If she can cover you for most of them , the rest will be easy.
You want to tell me what the story is? So I don't look surprised when you
tell the detective's?'

" The Sister -Isabel -and I were having an affair. She was in my loft the
nights of the killings."

" You sure about the dates?" Sam looked at him suspiciously. She had the
feeling that this alibi was pure fabrication but if her client said it was
good, the Nun swore to it, and the police bought it , that was all that
mattered.

 " Yes. I'm sure the dates will check."

Just then the detectives arrived.

"OK, MacLeod. Let's go over it again. The night Grey Buffalo and Sarah Lao
were killed you were home alone.  That's your story?"  Detective Franklin
opened the next round of questioning.

Duncan managed to look half ashamed of himself as he spoke. " No Detective, I
wasn't being completely truthful . I wasn't alone all those night. I was with
a lady."

"What? What lady?" Both detectives looked upset.

"Her name is Sister Gabriel.  She's a nun attached to St. Thomas' Church. I
didn't want to bring her into this if I could help it but .  ." Duncan
trailed of/.

" So? A nun? You and  nun are having an affair and you  just happened to be
with her every night there was a killing?"

"Not every night. It's the truth, Detective. I was trying to protect her but
she *was* with me those nights. She'll back me up."

"What nights specifically was she there?"

" She was with me on the 10th, the 13th , 14 and 15th. We spent most of that
weekend together."

"What about the 2nd? The night Ray Allan was killed?"

"No, I told you the truth there. I was home alone that night."

"So you don't have an alibi for the night Allan died. Let's talk about these
other nights. Tell me about this Sister Gabriel."

The interrogation went on but Duncan knew he was going to walk. He kept the
number of details about his affair to a minimum. He claimed his reticence was
due to concern over her status as a nun. The Detective' s were frustrated as
their prime suspect seemed to be slipping through their fingers. Their
colleagues were in another room questioning the nun who had arrived at the
station a short while before. Finally, Franklin and Walters left to compare
notes with the other detectives. When they returned, they were not happy
campers.

"Seems this nun is going to back you up, MacLeod. You're a lucky man. Instead
of going to prison for seven murders , you can go for just one."

Sam spoke up. "How do you figure that Detective? The Sister alibi'ed him - I
say he walks out of here now. You don't have any evidence."

" He doesn't have an alibi for the Allan killing. " Detective Walters was
doggedly trying to make something of this case.

The lawyer laughed. " Let me get this straight. Your theory is that my client
beheaded the first victim and some *other* person beheaded the other six?
  You honestly think you can convince a jury that there is more than one
sword wielding manic loose in the city at the same time. I can't wait to see
that!"?

The detectives left again and soon returned looking sour faced.

"Your client is free to go."   Duncan stood up and headed for the door. Sam
followed. As he passed Detective Franklin , the detective spoke  " I know you
had something to do with this, MacLeod. You're dirty as hell. One of these
days I'm going to be able to prove it."

Duncan smiled wickedly and replied " I hope you plan on living a *long* time
Detective." Then Sam herded him out of the room. They collected his things
and Sam drove him home. He tried to call Isabel but Sister Michael tersely
told him that she wasn't taking any calls. Duncan let it go.

On the 23rd he sat in the back of the Church and watched the Christmas
Pageant. The children acted out the Christmas story with Sisters Gabriel and
Michael shepherding them on and off the make-shift stage. The Mass was said
and songs sung. The nun's sang a passable version of Ave Maria - Duncan
smiled at that. Isabel's voice wasn't the best he'd ever heard but she was
hardly as awful as she had suggested.  He thought she looked tired, he
supposed she was. He didn't try to talk with her and she made no effort to
speak to him. She knew he was there and that was all that mattered for now.

When it was over he went home alone to his quiet loft. A huge packing crate
still stood in the middle of the loft. Richie's Christmas present to him. It
had arrived the day before and Duncan had opened it this morning. It was
supposed to be a surprise for Duncan. Inside the crate he had found the large
sunburst sculpture that Tessa had made the year before her death. Right after
she died, in a fit of depression, Duncan had called her agent and had him
haul away a number of the pieces in the antique store and apartment. The
agent had found willing buyers almost immediately. By the time Duncan had
come to his senses, only a few days later,  and realized that he wanted the
pieces, they were gone. The sunburst had gone to a collector in Mexico.
Richie must have tracked him down and convinced him to sell.  It hurt to look
at it now but Duncan knew that he would cherish it doubly in the future.
Duncan settled down in a chair, facing the sculpture and wondered what the
future would bring.
=======
End part 12